The Thorns I Reap
by Theiry
Summary: Chris and Ezra are finally run to ground, but it's not so simple to fix what their leaving broke. sequel to What A Mother Makes Rating for Language.
1. Default Chapter

Disclaimer: I SHOULD own them. At least if I did the show would still be running...actually, on that note, there are a lot of shows I should own, not to mention the actors involved therein...oh well...I guess I'll just have to make due without. More's the pity.

Author's Note: This is a sequel to "What A Mother Makes" . It's not really necessary to read that first, but it might help explain a few things, like how everybody got where they are, or aren't, what everybody's talking about, or, really, what THE HELL is going on. In any case, read that or this, or both or neither as suits your taste. Just thought I'd let you know what was goin' on. Oh, yeah, you really should read A Man Of The World. It's one of the most beautifully written stories I've found. Also, does NO ONE wonder why Chris just took off? I mean, not even a little?

The Thorns I Reap

By Theiry

Prologue

The sheriff sighed upon seeing the body, not a weary sound, merely a resigned one, and it was easy to believe from that sigh alone that such a seemingly random and violent death was not as uncommon a thing in his town as he might have wished it to be.

His muttered comment didn't really detract from that conclusion either," Well hell, it ain't even Friday yet."

And he sighed again, casting a somewhat harder look on the strangers, the one continuing to hold up the bar, sipping his whiskey as if all was right and well, the other still sprawled in his chair at the card table across the room, his back oh-so-casually angled toward the wall, than he had on the corpse.

An older man with a rough-hewn face and a tightness around the corner's of his dark eyes that spoke eloquently of too many nights spent in a fight he clearly wasn't winning, too many days of showing the world and the people in his town the things they wanted to see instead of the hard and ugly truths he lived with, too many hours spent reassuring the men with too much influence that all that could be done WAS and, blatant lie though it might be, that all was indeed well, the Sheriff considered the two Strangers in silence, recognizing neither of them, but feeling almost as if he should.

They weren't your usual drifters, that was for sure and certain, and he didn't think he was the alone in that conclusion, not even before they'd each put a bullet between the recently deceased's eyes. There was an edge to the both of them, a coiled readiness, that made him think of the soldiers, and God how few they were, who'd fought in the war from the first to last engagement; men who'd grown accustomed to walking with death, who found an awkward kind of comfort in it's presence, men who would for always and forever prefer that feeling to what they felt with those who had not seen the things they'd seen, had not been forced to act as they had in a cause that was so often not their own.

One such man, unknown, obviously capable and uncaring, was always bad enough, too such men more than he'd ever wanted to deal with, and if he was a little bit tense, a little bit wary, then what of it?

After all, he didn't see anyone else stepping up to do his job for him.

He cast a look at his deputy, far younger, far less perceptive, yet not stupid, not by any means, just to check that the man hadn't bolted, and signaled first to the man at the bar, then to the man in the chair," You boy's are gonna have to come with me."

They went, without so much as glace at each other, the one taking time enough to finish his drink before shifting his weight and turning to face the Sheriff, the other rising with the insolent disregard of a cat being made to do that which it did not wish to.

They said nothing to each other and nothing to him or his deputy, but remained where they were, but he didn't miss the way the dark clad man's eyes shifted, just barely, toward the man across the room, almost, as if in anticipation of a remark that didn't come.

Having learned some lessons better than others the Sheriff didn't draw attention, didn't acknowledge, the man's slip, but filled what he realized had become an expectant silence," I don't know just what went down here tonight, though I'm willing enough to believe that you boys didn't start it, but I do know the law, and the Law says murder's murder and you gotta stand trial. 'S not anythin' personal. Just aint my place to assign punishment or let you boys ride free."

Another almost look from the black-clad man, and then the man across the room, no more compromising than the first, opened his mouth and, through the use quite a few words he didn't understand and a liberal charm the Sheriff would've thought himself immune to, managed to gain both the assurance that their horses would be well cared for during their "internment", and , somehow, that their separate gear would be gathered and brought to them, minus of course whatever weapons either might have in their possession.

Somewhat dazed by the speech, unable to recall most of what was said, the Sheriff shot the man a narrow eyed, distrustful look before gesturing for the men to walk ahead of him.

Once they were secured (he decided to put them in the same cell, reasoning that they'd been quick enough to act in defense of one another that they ought to be able to get along, knowing that tomorrow was payday at the bigger ranches and he'd need all the cells he could get, and that it could take the Judge nearly a week to get there.) he sent his deputy to wire the judge, then, after a polite reminder from the Southerner, called him back and sent him to get the prisoners belongings as well.

The men, whose names he'd yet to get, but that was okay because he'd started to remember where he should know them from, settled into their cell quickly enough, as those used to finding themselves in unfamiliar and possibly hostile environments often do, the taller of the two taking the bed, the other taking the bench, leaning back against the wall, drawing his hat down over his eyes.

You could almost think he was doing that so maybe he could get a little sleep, but the Sheriff didn't think that was the case. It seemed to him more like he was doing everything he could so he didn't have to look at the man on the bunk, like maybe even the sight of him was more than he wanted to deal with.

And being as obvious as he could while he did it too.

After fifteen minutes of utter silence, wondering where the hell his deputy had got to, he asked them if they were hungry and earned a grunt from the one and affable assurances of the negative from the other.

Twenty minuets of further silence and he sighed for a third time, then said something that, finally, earned a reaction from the men," You know, I have this sinkin suspicion Judge Travis was right about you boys and this is gonna be the longest week of my life."

He'd never be sure if he saw the Gunslinger move, though his mind insisted that he HAD to have, but suddenly the man was on his feet and at the bars, the menace radiating off him in almost visible waves," Let me out."

"Can't do that Mister Larabee," then, with no malice aforethought," You ought to know that."

Not quite wincing the Gambler tipped his hat up, rose gracefully to his feet and intercepted what the Sheriff could see was one hell of a temper," Sir, our incarceration cannot be wholly necessary, there were well over a hundred witnesses to our supposed crime and I believe there are few amongst that number who would dare to claim our actions were anything other than necessary to our immediate defense."

Nope, it didn't seem much like Travis had been wrong, at least not about this one," True enough Mister Standish, but the law's the law."

"Indeed."

CHAPTER ONE:

Ezra P. Standish, Gentleman Gambler and conman at-large, fended off the steady thrum of the whiskey in his blood with a tenacity that would have surprised almost anyone, including most of those who claimed to know him. He'd been drinking since sundown, though the amount of alcohol he'd consumed was far less than that implied, and been having quite a time slipping back into himself . . . until he'd glanced away from the poker game he was enjoying to see Chris Larabee stroll through the bat-wing doors.

He'd very nearly smiled to see him standing there, had barely been able to check the urge before wrenching his eyes back to the cards in his hands.

His trembling hands.

Annoyed beyond recollection with both his foremost reaction and the sight of his shaking hands he'd reached for the shot-glass at his elbow, full to the brim with three fingers of the best whiskey he'd been able to find in this charming little dust pit, and tossed it back, grimacing as it slammed against the back of his throat, burning and searing the tissue.

He told himself he wasn't angry, not with Chris, not with anyone, yet his hands continued to tremble with the effort of restraining his impulses and he could feel the vivid, vicious pounding of his temper at his temples and behind his eyes, could feel the dark, simmering thing which he'd been ignoring almost since awakening in Nathan's clinic nearly seven months ago.

Yet his awareness of the man at the door did not falter and he knew, without turning so much as an inch, when Chris became aware of his presence, felt his gaze burning into him, felt himself dismissed as his once superior turned away from the poker table toward the bar. He felt him making his way through the crowd, didn't have to look into the faces of those at the table to know the menace Chris seemed barely able to control at times had not diminished in their days apart, could see the smile on his all to familiar face, that cool, slight, smirk of his, that told the world he knew they were afraid.

He'd had to fight the urge then, the immediate, nearly overwhelming urge, to turn and face him, look for look. To challenge that cool assurance and, at the very least, prove to the people in this barroom that there was one amongst them unafraid of the man who parted their number like Moses was reputed to have parted a certain body of water.

He could've done, he knew, could've driven Chris Larabee into looking away as he had never seen him do, because between them lay the knowledge that, expectations and intentions aside, Chris had been the first to leave, not Ezra, CHRIS, and, from all accounts, with out so much as a "Hope you have a nice life' to anybody concerned. The knowledge that, though he seemed to positively glory in his melancholy, there had been no sleepless nights spent agonizing over weather he should go, weather he should stay, that there had been nothing save the sudden decision and abrupt action. That he had demanded loyalty and dependability of Ezra yet, in the end, had proven himself capable of neither.

He could've turned and matched his will against that of Chris, could've finally sought a reckoning for the damages the man had so unthinkingly wrought in binding him to a situation designed to overtake and destroy him, could've faced his own guilt and recrimination in the hazel depths of his eyes and with little enough regret. Yet he fought the urge, conquered it, unwilling to allow anyone to dictate his actions, most especially not Chris Larabee.

Not again.

Not ever again.

The night wore on and with ever passing moment his resentment of the man at the bar burned and grew and ate at his concentration, and, being aware that this only FURTHER centered his attention on him had in no way diminished the raw and seething emotions he had been taking such pains to conceal.

Was it so very much then, he'd wondered, bludgeoning that part of him that wished to retreat into his most recently abandoned role against his own stubborn will, to want his life back? To retain some part of himself, any part of himself, that remained untainted by those men and that place? That belonged to him, free of their influence?

Through it all there remained an island of calm around Chris, an area which neither the drunks nor the rowdies nor the working girls would enter into, wary of drawing the attention of such an obviously hostile human being.

Whatever Ezra's thoughts on the matter he hadn't been amused as he once had been by the guarded reaction of the people around him, he might admit to having been comforted in some odd way, but never amused.

Nor was he amused when the instincts he had developed working as a Peacekeeper suddenly stood up and took note of an unkempt, travel –stained man as he entered the bar. There had been nothing in the least memorable about either the man's looks or attire, nothing to set him apart from the rest of the drunks and the rowdies and the drifters, yet his instincts had insisted the threat he posed was very real indeed, and Ezra had been helpless to ignore such a warning.

Only later, as the Barkeep had run to get the Sheriff, did it occur to him that Chris's near identical reaction to the man had not been overlooked on his part but subconsciously counted on, and, realizing that, for the first time in his life, he'd thought himself mad enough to spit.

In exactly those words.

And it took every ounce of his considerable, though already strained, control to keep himself from reaching out, taking a hold of the chair he'd vacated when firing, and flinging it across the room at the Gunslinger who'd so casually overturned what little equilibrium he'd managed to regain in the months since his departure.

There was some small pride in the fact that he'd done nothing of the sort, though he'd been unable to resist the urge to throw himself into the chair like a three year old having a temper tantrum, and an even smaller pride that he'd managed to refrain from flipping the bird at his one time friend when he'd given him that carefully sarcastic smile before returning to his liquor.

It was degrading to be brought to such a pass that even these infinitesimal acts of restraint were to be considered accomplishments of note, more so due to the fact that he was unable to convince himself of his subtly, unable to convince himself that Chris was unaware of his reaction.

So, after confronting the Sheriff in regards to their further imprisonment, he'd allowed the silence to stretch and grow between them until he could almost imagine himself standing on the edge of so vast and imposing a chasm that the limits were beyond his comprehension, though he knew, as he'd known it would be Chris standing in the doorway, a dark silhouette framed against the darker night from which he'd come, that somewhere beyond his sight was the opposite ledge and on that ledge a familiar black-clad figure.

He amused himself as best he could with a game of solitaire, stoically giving every impression of ignoring the Gunslinger's presence. Ezra had absolutely no idea why the local constabulary had elected to keep the both of them in a single cell, certainly Chris would never have allowed any such action...he ground his teeth, audibly, and reminded himself that HE would never have allowed two prisoners to languish in a single cell, no matter Chris Larabee's opinions on the matter, for various and obvious reasons, yet whatever this Sheriff's reasoning he found himself both further annoyed and inconvenienced by the situation, having been forced to take his seat on a splintering and uncomfortable plank bench, while Chris lay sprawled on the cot.

How the Gunslinger had managed that improbable arrangement he couldn't say.

"I didn't recognize him."

He didn't jump when Chris's voice broke the silence, washing over him like a cooling and much longed for wind, yet it was a near thing, and he found himself once again wishing he could throw something at the man, hating and resenting him still more. It had been easy until that moment to tell himself he had no particular wish to hear him speak, that he hadn't missed something so simple as the sound of his voice, and now, having been denied that small fallacy, he wanted nothing more than to silence him. Yet another want which would be denied to him, he thought, with some regret and not a little anger, Lord, but how he was growing weary of being denied.

" But I doubt I'd recognize even half the men," and women Ezra silently added with a mean little snicker the blond didn't see," with a grudge against me, so that's not saying a whole hell of a lot. What about you?"

"As you say," hating nothing so much as the dependency so recently birthed in his soul, Ezra kept his gaze fixed steadily on the cards laid out before him, refusing to look at Chris, refusing to give in to the urge to angle his body toward him as a flower might turn toward the sun, choosing his words with studied calculation," I too have made my fair share of enemies over the years. One must, in my profession, if one is at all accomplished."

Half expecting Chris to challenge the statement he was oddly annoyed when the man's only response was to snap," Did you recognize him Ezra?"

"I did not.," he snapped back, indifferent to the fact that his composure was slipping enough for his temper to show through, that his voice was, perhaps, harder, colder than Chris's. He continued, his mask of civility slipping still farther," Which I do believe has already been made apparent. I wonder if I've ever mentioned how greatly I detest having to repeat myself."

"You said you'd made your fare share of enemies, not that you didn't recognize the man. And if you hate repeating yourself so much, maybe you should learn to say what you mean."

"I always do.," He snapped. Again.

"I've never seen it."

"That in no way surprises me.," Even he was caught off guard by the venom in his voice, by the encompassing wave of spiteful malice that overshadowed his thoughts and intentions, that stole away the illusions he'd so carefully constructed in the days immediately subsequent to his leave-taking. He could feel it, searing across his nerves, burning like a fever behind his eyes, eating away at his thoughts like acid and had no difficulty in imagining it emanating from his person in visible, somehow oil-slick, waves.

How he hated Chris Larabee.

And god, how he loved him.

And Vin.

And Buck.

And J.D, Josiah, and Nathan.

And Mary and Billy and Inez and Casey and Nettie and even Gloria Potter, who pretended she didn't know he spent a good third of his income upon gifts and treats for the local children and the Children of the Seminole village he had so often been obliged to visit.

He'd left them; everyone of them, save Chris, who might well have been capable of convincing him to stay had he put forth the effort, and in doing so had thought himself aware of the depth and breadth of his attachment to them, had, in his arrogance, imagined himself capable of overcoming those cloying, suffocating ties.

He wondered then if he'd ever come to a more erroneous conclusion in the whole of his life.

He didn't need to look up to know that Chris had shifted his gaze to him, that he was probably no less taken aback by his response.

To know that Chris's own temper would have sparked in kind.

"What the hell does that mean?!"

Coolly, squaring his jaw in an unconscious parody of the man on the bunk, Ezra said ,"I have never doubted you intelligence Mister Larabee, nor do I believe understanding of my words to be beyond your understanding.," Then, in a near shout as his temper slipped it's collar and ran away with his tongue," Figure it out yourself!"

"Hey!," The Sheriff called from his position behind his desk,"That's enough!"

More appalled with his grammar than with the outburst itself Ezra settled back against the wall and once again pulled his hat low enough to obscure his vision.

Chris was still watching him and he didn't care.

Didn't care about the surprise no doubt reflected in the man's expression, or the temper which would still need to be dealt with.

He didn't care.

He didn't.

UUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU

In the aftermath of betrayal, we often have to struggle to maintain our grip on reality. Survival requires a source of self-respect, self-awareness, and self-honesty. We have to find a balance point before reaching out again.- Virgil


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Yeah, yeah, don't own nothin'. But I suspect you already knew that.

A/N: My own computer just crashed, wiped out, DIED, and now I'm forced to jump computers every once and awhile,(i.e. use my mom's, my grandparent's, or any of my aunts or cousin's, but only when THEY'RE not using them) so if it takes a bit to post the next chapter it's not because I've given up. Promise! Oh, Tamrinm (hope I got that right) THANKYOU for asking. I've been feeling a little sorry for Chris lately, since no one seemed to even CARE about his motives. It was almost starting to seem as if he were a bit unloved. : ) And, to BM originally, you never had to worry about the sequal, I wrote the first page for it right about the time I was writing the first page of What A Mother Makes. Still, glad to know you care. And, once again, I send my most HARTFELT thanks to my reviwers. I love to hear what you think, good or bad, and greatly appreciate your taking the time to read and then review my stories, not to mention the compliments and enthusiasim.(Doubt I spelled that right. This computer , unfortunately, lacks a spellcheck). I guess, since I wouldn't be writing this if you guys hadn't wanted me to do so, this story is for you.

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"I s'ppose there's a reason Billy spends half his time over at the post office."

Both Buck and Vin considered ignoring Nathan's question while J.D. and Josiah never even looked up from their checkerboard. All four of them knew the answer, after all Billy had no problem talking to any of them, whereas he'd cross to the other side of the street if he saw the healer coming, but he'd made them earn the knowledge and they were none of them willing to breach the boys trust like that.

"Did ya ask him ?," This from Vin, who sat cleaning his nails with the tip of his knife.

"I would've, if he were talking to me."

"Ya," Buck winced at the bitter taste of the coffee, and wished for the hundred and tenth time that he'd gotten up before Vin that morning,"You might wanna work on that. Can't imagine it'll do anyone any good if the boy gets sick and won't tell anyone 'cause he don't wanna deal with you."

"You think I haven't tried?," Nathan snapped, irritated and testy from lack of sleep.," Billy'd spit on me if he thought Mary'd let him."

Neither of the men said anything in reply. It was the truth and, as such, was all that really needed to be said on the matter.

But they knew Nathan, knew he'd return to wondering why Billy made three trips to the Post Office, which also happened to house the telegraph office, every day and sometimes more often than that, knew that their own knowledge was made plain in the simple fact that they never asked or wondered aloud as he had just done.

They shared a look, shared a thought.

It wasn't Nathan's fault, not Nathan's alone, that Ezra had left, that he'd felt it necessary to drug them so as to accomplish his escape, and they couldn't blame him for Chris taking off, but, all the same, that didn't stop them from wanting to. Didn't stop Buck, who well remembered their conversation in the stable, from snapping and sniping at the man with every other sentence out of his mouth, didn't stop Vin from refusing to look at him until it couldn't be avoided.

Josiah they treated much the same, though Vin was colder to him than Buck, and J.D. escaped only by virtue of the fact that he'd wound himself so tight over the whole thing they were afraid to push him any further.

Yet the bond which had first united them remained as it ever had, withered, though intact, and they'd drawn together after Chris and Ezra'd left, haunting one another's footsteps as if afraid to do otherwise would be to lose those who remained. They ate together, worked together, spent a good deal of their free time either at the Jail, where they now sat sprawled in various positions on the porch, or at the clinic or church.

The Tavern they avoided, taking their meals at the boarding house instead and their liquor at whichever of the various remaining bars happened to be closest, and they never played cards.

But there WAS a rift, a distance between them, and both it and the guilt from which it stemmed, screamed from within their newly acquired habits, flailing in the silences which pervaded the air no matter where they were, nor whom they were with, choking them on words unspoken and memories of the events, and their own disastrous roles therein, immediately preceding the loss of their friends.

The damage was obvious, if you had the eyes to see it.

Josiah, for instance, dedicated such a fervor, which never seemed to ease or ebb, to the reparation of his Church that the townsfolk had long since grown accustomed to his working through the night. It had gone so far that they might even have thought it odd to find the church dark and silent through the hours between dusk and dawn, to miss the regular sight of Josiah disposing of the empty bottles whose contents had kept him company through those laborious and lonely hours.

J.D. slept and ate at the jail, though none could bare witness to the first act and the second he only dealt with when Casey brought him a meal and then sat and watched him eat it. He never left, save in the company of the remaining Peacekeepers, and it almost seemed at times as if the boy spent his days walking beneath a shadow that both eclipsed and diminished his own natural light; which was that quality his friends had first turned him away and then accepted him on account of.

Vin, contrary to popular expectations, hadn't moved his wagon out of town, yet he and Buck took longer on their patrols than any of the others, and he only rarely spent time with Mary, foregoing the reading lessons in his inability to deal with HER anger and pain on top of his own.

Nathan rarely slept. His nights were spent in the agony of could-haves, would-haves, should-haves, and he, unaware of Ezra's previous acquaintance, had likewise grown familiar with the warped board in his ceiling.

Buck alone seemed but little affected, continuing on in his pursuit of the Ladies as avidly as he ever had, at times appearing almost contemptuous of the reactions of his friends. Yet he laughed only infrequently, and, often as not, they'd catch him looking off into the distance, blind to the town around him, to the people at his side.

They didn't blame Nathan for it, not alone.

They didn't.

But they did.

Then, as the Healer was opening his mouth, no doubt to ask again about Billy and his visits to the post office, Billy himself came tearing down the boardwalk, his steps clanking against the wooden planks, clutching what looked to be a telegram in his hands.

For the first time in six months he ignored Nathan completely, brushing by him in his dash to Buck, who quickly sat up and took a hold of the boys shoulders.

"Iwasatthetelegraphofficeandmisterjohnsonaskedmetobringthistoyouiwasn'ts'posedtoreaditbutididanditsays...."

Buck gave him a little shake,"Whoa there now, take a breath and try that again."

"Mister Johnson said my Grandpa sent this for you and you needed to see it right away. He was gonna bring it over, but then there was another telegraph and he had to stay, so I said I'd bring it, only I promised not to read it and I did and it says..."

"Son, you need to calm down before you make yourself sick.,"Josiah warned, drawn away from his game, worried by the rapid flow of speech, the bright, wide-eyed stare, and the flags of color that stood out against the boys sickly yellow complexion.

"Now, what'd Mister Johnson send over?," J.D. asked, not unkindly.

"THIS!," Billy shouted, waving the paper under Buck's nose, clearly frustrated, "and I read it and it says..."

"It's okay if you read it Billy, we don't mind.,"Nathan assured, thinking to relive Billy's agitation.

"IT SAYS EZRA AND CHRIS ARE IN JAIL FOR MURDERING SOMEONE!,"the boy shrieked, causing several of passerby's to stop dead in their tracks while the five remaining Peacekeepers gaped at him.

Vin, who was the first to recover, glared at the gawkers convincingly enough that they were soon hurrying on their way, and muttered," Close yer mouth Bucklin.," Then turned his attention to Billy, " Well now, lets have a look at that telegraph."

Billy handed it over readily enough, but there was a defiance to his actions when he tilted his chin up and declared,"I'm not lying."

"I know.," the Texan replied, briefly debating weather or not to struggle through the message himself , before handing it off to J.D., who'd left his chair and game and was now standing behind him.

Several seconds passed in silence.

"Holy HELL.," the Sheriff muttered on an exhale.

"Damn it.," And Buck was on his feet, pivoting as he rose, to face the younger man, "If you're not gonna read it aloud then give it here!"

He ripped the paper from his hands.

Lips moving as his eyes fallowed the carefully printed line of words Buck ignored the impatiently hostile presence of those around him, ignored the fact that he was now repeating the same action he'd just snapped at J.D. for.

But that was okay, J.D. was talking enough for all of them, his previously dimmed energy making a resurgence as the words flew off his tongue, "The Judge says they shot some drifter in some place called Huxley. Haven't got an I.D. on the guy yet, he was a drifter or something and no one recognizes him. Says it'll take him 'bout a week to get there, and the Local Sheriff, Bradley, will keep 'em locked up till then."

Letting his gaze drift to his boots Vin dropped, casually," Know Huxley, been there a coupla times. 'S 'bout three days ride from here."

They didn't look at each other, didn't need to look at each, but they did.

And J.D. was smiling.

UUU

Arriving back at the Jailhouse on Friday morning Sheriff Bradley pondered the pot of steaming coffee sitting on the stove and the stack of wanted posters which had clearly been riffled through since the night before.

It was a rare thing for Kevin, his Deputy, to beat him to work, but not unheard of.

Not completely.

Which was the obvious answer, that Kevin had stopped in and spent a little time at work before heading off to Maisey's for breakfast, one that he ought to feel completely comfortable in accepting.

But he didn't.

Shifting the problem to the back of his mind, after all Kevin would eventually turn up and then he could just ASK the man, he went to check on his prisoners.

If they'd moved during the night he couldn't tell, Standish continued to lean his back against the wall, while Larabee continued to take up the cot, though neither of them were asleep. Something in the southerners stare told him the man would very much prefer it otherwise and that the sheriff himself might be made to regret his early rising, while the gunslinger merely watched him from his cold and hooded eyes.

"Ah, my good sir, I do not suppose you bring our morning repast?," Standish quipped, seeming both friendly and cheerful, whatever that stare of his might say.

"Soon enough.," He answered, distracted by the cot in the adjacent cell. Did the damn thing look that neat yesterday, he wondered, with the blankets all tucked and folded like that? Did it even have blankets? Or a pillow?

"Yes of course, everything in its time. I wonder then, if we might be allowed the use of a razor to rid ourselves of ..."

"He wants to shave.," Larabee cut in.

Though obviously annoyed by the interruption the gambler gave no reaction to it, save to incline his head in agreement.,"To put it bluntly, yes, I would very much appreciate such a consideration. "

"Don't see why not.," he murmured, eyeing the lock on their cell door.

He looked at the men.

He looked at the lock.

He looked at the empty cot and thought of the coffee.

"Was there something else sir?"

"My deputy been in?"

Standish nodded pleasantly enough, though the Sheriff couldn't help but think he was doing so to avoid meeting his gaze.," He is but a few moments gone. I must admit to being surprised you didn't see him on your own way in."

Okay then, the mystery was solved and he could ignore the little nagging feeling at the back of his mind that was trying to tell him he knew better.

"He mention were he was goin' ?"

A single eyebrow arched to his hairline in a simple and elegantly loquacious gesture," Is he in the habit of informing prisoners of his whereabouts?"

"Wouldn't it be nice if you could just hit him with something?," Larabee drawled.

Shifting his attention to the man on the cot Sheriff Bradley caught the expression of almost-nostalgia in his eyes before they were again shuttered against his inquiry. ,"I'm not in the habit of beatin' on the men in my custody Mr. Larabee."

A small, knowing smile crept into existence,"You'll regret it before the week's out."

UUU

"We can't ALL go.,"Buck insisted, not unreasonably, for what must've been the fiftieth time.

"Have before," J.D. pointed out,"When Chris was in Jericho."

"That was different.,"The older man snapped with an airy wave of his hands.,"Somebody's gotta stay here. "

"Somebody is Brother."

"Just not any of us."

"Nobody's makin' you come Bucklin. An' if leavin' the town defenseless so prays on yer mind then you just go ahead and stay 'ere."

Buck scowled at the four of them, in no way affected by the bite in Vin's suggestion, which was really an ultimatum and not unlike one Chris would have delivered in any similar situation. HE wasn't going to stay, as Vin well knew, as Chris would've known, and at no point had he offered to do so. No, what he'd been doing was trying to get one of the OTHERS to stay, preferably Nathan or Josiah. His reasoning wasn't completely influenced by his own opinion of the men either, the town needed the both of them in capacities beyond that which the remaining three lawmen fulfilled, and, to Buck's mind, and, really, all things considered, it made SENSE for them to remain behind.

And there they sat on their horses, clearly unwilling to listen to sense, waiting for him to make up his mind.

Well damn it all anyway.

Without a word he hooked his foot into the stirrup and swung himself up onto Beau's back, then, before the others could so much as blink, he set his heels to the big gray and they were off in a cloud of dust.

UUU

He'd think later that he should've known better, really he should've, because anything and everything he touched had a way of turning 'round and going bad on him and he really should've just kept his damn mouth shut.

He didn't.

But he should have.

An hour and a half of sitting with the prisoners, of suffocating under the weight of their silence and hostility, and Deputy Kevin Dean wanted to scream, shout, yell, stand up and jump around like a jack rabbit, ANYTHING to break the heavy, laden, feeling coming from the cell and the men he'd helped put there.

He settled for opening his mouth instead.

"You two were sure as hell ready to kill for one another last night and now you won't even talk.," He muttered, not wholly aware of doing so.

"I didn't do anything for him.," Larabee snarled from his place on the cot, from which he STILL had not moved.,"I didn't even know he was there."

Standish didn't raise his voice or alter his languid southern tones in anyway, but Kevin would always remember the imminent hostility and utter certainty within the lazily, almost absently, spoken statement.,"First you prove false and now you lie out-right. I must say I find myself rather appalled, not to mention, disillusioned by these latest revelations into the apparantly questionable subject of your character.," And then there was sarcasm, light, and mocking in it's cruel amusement, "I had thought you such a paragon."

"I'd be careful where I pointed my fingers Ezra, you might just get 'em cut off."

"Was I pointing fingers?"

"I'm not playing your games Standish."

"Go to hell Mister Larabee."

"Look what you started. "

Kevin jumped at the softly spoken words , twisting around in his seat to face the doorway and the Sheriff, whose enterance he hadn't noticed at all.

"I didn't...," But didn't he? Hadn't it been his big mouth that started this newest little battle between the men in the cell?

Bradley just shook his head, an odd little smile on his face,"Don't worry 'bout it Kev.," Then, almost faster than the Deputy's eyes could fallow, he drew the colt at his hip, aimed it at the ceiling, and fired twice in rapid succession.

The men in the cell showed little enough reaction, save to reach for the weapons that should've been at their waists, but were actually sitting on the Sheriff's desk , ducking slightly to the side as they did.

"Now," and Bradley's voice had grown as harsh and uncompromising as that of Larabee or Standish," if you boys can't play nice then I suggest you just keep your mouths shut, because I'm not gonna spend the next week or more listenin' to the two of you scrap. Got it?"

"Week OR MORE?!," Larabee demanded, swinging his legs off the bed and rising to his own imposing height for the first time in several hours.

"That's what I said."

It occurred to Kevin that anyone should be able to sound confident when holding a gun on two unarmed men who also happened to be in a locked cell, but he couldn't stop himself from marveling at the assurance in his boss's voice and stance all the same. Larabee, unarmed and locked away or no, still managed to come off as something a little more than intimidating.

"Sir I am afraid I find such a lengthy internment is unacceptable and should you chose to ignore my protest I will be forced..."

"And what do you think I can do about it Mister Standish? You're here until the Judge arrives and that's a fact of life," Bradley holstered his gun," get used to it."

"My God," and rising to his feet to stand next to Larabee he really did look as if he might be sick," you CANNOT mean we will remain here at Judge Travis's convenience?!"

"Quit acting like you're surprised.,"Larabee snapped.

"And you're not?!,"Standish snapped back," I'd thought we must've ridden beyond his jurisdiction long since. My God," he repeated,"We'll be here for months!!"

"You won't.," Bradely insisted, only to be ignored.

Turning on the gunslinger Standish shoved him,"You couldn't leave well enough alone?! Couldn't leave HER, THEM,alone?! She could've married Gerard and left you well clear of it, yet you persisted, refused to let go, and look where it's gotten us! You PLAYED them," he nearly shrieked, a fact which seemed only to aggrivate him all the more," and LEFT them," and he shoved him a second time, with considerably more visible force," and Judge Travis will leave us to rot because of it!"

"GO TO HELL!!," Larabee bellowed, going purple in the face, shoving back hard enough to make the man take a stumbeling step backward.

"I took my leave of that FOUL place some six months previous sir!"

In a blurr of motion Larabee grabbed his cellmate , twisting his fists into the expensive fabric of the man's jacket, and slammed him against the bars,"YOU SON OF A BITCH!"

As Kevin jumped to his feet Bradley again reached for his gun, shouting,"GOD DAMN IT!"

His exclimation overlapped with the Southerners tightly civil retort,"I'm well aware of your opinion of my mother and have no need for further discourse on the subject. However I suggest you take you hands off me. NOW."

"Or what?," Larabee dared in a soft, mocking tone that was nearly too low for either of the Lawmen to hear.

Standish said nothing for several, dangerously tense moments, and Kevin, who stood frozen, caught up in the strange and oddly overpowering atmosphere that seemed to simply BE the men in the cell in some way he'd never really be able to understand, was surprised to feel the dampcool sweat on the back of his neck and the palms of his hands, surprised to realize he was truly afraid of what Standish might do in response to Larabee's challenge, of how Larabee might return the treatment in kind.

He'd never know what it was Chris Larabee saw in Ezra Standish's expression then, but he'd remember, until the day he died,(In an unfortunately shorter span of time than he'd have assumed on that February morning. He didn't know, couldn't know, that in some fifteen years, after migrating to Texas, he'd be recruted to the Texas Rangers in an impressively short time and, therein, earn a reputation bordering on the legendary, not to mention attracting the attention of the men who would send three bullets into his left lung, his neck, and his heart. He'd leave behinde a wife and a son, the latter of which would fallow in his footsteps, the former of which would seek final justice against the men responsible for his death. However, this isn't his story and even if it were those events are still some fifteen years over the horizen.) he'd remember that Chris Larabee let go of the younger man and stepped away.

In response Standish straightened his jacket, going so far as to TISK, at the wrinkles the man's grip had made, before turning to face Kevin and the Sheriff as if nothing out of the ordinary had just happened.

Kevin had an idea that for the Southerner nothing in the whole screwed up situation WAS out of the ordinary.

Jesus what a life.

"Your insistance on forcing Mister Larabee and myself to remain in these rediclously small accomidations is both unorthadox and foolhardy and, whatever your reasoning, will no longer be tolerated. I insist the situation be remedied. If you refuse my associate and I WILL take matters into our own hands, the results of whicI assure you, will hardly please the Judge, whenever his arrival."

Without drawing attention to the action Larabee stepped forward until he was standing beside Standish and for the first time both Lawmen had the full, undevided, attention of both of the men in the cell.

Their threat wasn't an idyl one, that much was obvious, though some might be inclined to wonder just what they were going to do from in there, yet what was even more obvious was that they expected to WIN this confrontation, one way or another. Period. These men, it seemed, were not the type who lost at anything they didn't want to.

Whatever "taking matters into their own hands" entailed, they'd do it. Neither the Sheriff nor his Deputy doubted it.

Which would probably explain why Kevin's mouth all but fell to the floor when Bradley gave the man a cocky little half smirk and answered,"Maybe tomorrow."

The gunslinger and the gambler stood in their cell, shoulder to shoulder, grim-faced and resolute, unresponsive to either the expression or the tone in which the reply had been given.

Kevin would've rather they go back to shouthing and throwing each other around, that calm, that quite assurance, pricked his nerves worse than their active aggression could've done and he hated it. Hated how he could almost pick words out of the deafening force of their silence, words of condemnation and finality.

He'd never seen them untied in anything before then, had only experienced their silence and hostility toward each other , though he knew Cal, the owner of Three Fingered Jack's Saloon (Jack being his long dead brother), was telling everyone who cared to listen about the shooting in his bar. About how Larabee and Standish hadn't so much as looked at each other once in the entire night before the shooting was over and how they'd moved and reacted in what he called percise, synchronized, harmony.

According to him there hadn't even been a echo in their shots, implying they'd been made with such perfect timing that the powder had gone up at the EXACT same time and the sound had overlapped giving the impression of only one shot having been fired.

Kevin hadn't talked to the wittnesses, though Bradley had, and so dismissed the claims out of hand. Cal liked a good story and if you could make a GOOD story a BETTER story with a little embellishment, then what was the harm? Had he talked to the wittnesses he would've known, as Sheriff Bradely had learned, that every single one of them said they'd thought there had only been ONE shot fired until they'd looked around and seen both men, at opposite sides of the room, holstering their still smoking weapons. Until Cal had gone to the body and exclaimed at the TWO bullet holes between his eyes.

He might not have been so surprised by what he glimpsed in the men then, had he accepted Cal's claims, but then again maybe not. Somethings you never get a handle on until you've seen 'em with your own eyes.

Seperately, as the Sheriff had thought the night before, the men were imposing enough, together, with hostilites flying between them, they were still enough to give a man pause, cell or no cell, and that was still a part of it, oh MY but was that a part of it, yet it wasn't ALL of it. The Deputy didn't have the words to discribe what it was he was seeing, not even in his own mind, but he thought maybe it was like seeing to peices of the same whole come together, their jagged, uneven, edges meeting and melding until there was ONE peice where two had been, though each was still distinctly itself. He thought of ropes and how the weaving of stands made them strong. He thought of hundreds, thousands, of concepts and images all basicly simmilar, all fundamentaly, though not fully, correct, and each boiling down to the same conclusion: these men, united, were one hell of a force to be reconed with.

All this they conveyed by simply standing there, watching them through the bars.

Without a word.

Without making a single gesture or movement.

And Kevin Dean knew, without any doubt at all, that his life, fairly uncomplicated until then, was about to get unpleasant.

UUU

Carry the battle to them.

Don't let them bring it to you.

Put them on the defensive.

And don't ever apologize for anything.

-Harry S. Truman


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I don't own them. Gosh, wouldn't it be wonderful if I did? Hey, it just occurred to me, Sheriff Bradley and Deputy Dean DO belong to me. Wow. That's kinda neat.

Author's Note: If anyone cares I just want to offer my abject apologies for waiting so long to get this up. No excuses or anything. Just that. Also I'm free of school until the third, so I'm going to try and get as much of this done as I can before then. So, if there are still any Readers out there with an interest, I give you….

Chapter Three

Saturday morning found Sheriff Bradley in much the same position as Friday morning.

Staring at the coffee pot.

His eyes slid away from that sight to the no less arresting spectacle that had once been his desk.

First off it was NEAT.

And TIDY.

One wouldn't be entirely mistaken, not at all, to even go so far as to call it ORGANIZED.

He'd spent the better part of his life avoiding such descriptions of himself and anything that came even remotely under his jurisdiction, and, Lord knew, Kevin sure as hell didn't help matters on that front.

Not that either of them had bothered to put forth any kind of effort to make it otherwise.

He, at least, was oddly proud of the messes he was so adept in creating. He suspected Kevin might just enjoy being a little bit lazy when he could.

Nothing wrong with that, though. Nothing a 'tall.

The state of his desk was bad enough, worse for the fact that he wasn't going to have the time to figure out where they'd put everything, but what REALLY caught a man's attention were the four empty bottles of whiskey lined up alone the edge there.

Surprisingly unaffected he sighed, marginally grateful for the fact that here, without the slightest expenditure of effort, was the answer to how they'd managed to secure the cooperation of whichever of the drunks had managed to bestir themselves from their concussion induced stupor in the course of their work.

No doubt that damn joke of a Doctor had sat there drinking himself blind and laughing himself sick during the entire episode.

God, he was getting a headache.

Knowing a line had been drawn, wishing he'd been the one holding the chalk, he made his way to the cells.

There were six in the cell across from the Judge's prisoners, and he'd thrown Daniel into the third cell for his own protection. Most of thesixhad come under the good Doctor's ministrations at some point in the past, and, all things considered, he'd rather not have the death of the only Doctor for a good forty miles in every direction take place in one of his holding cells.

None of the six were awake, which really wasn't surprising considering how hard some of their heads were, but Daniel was sitting there grinning, as nicely toasted as he'd ever seen the man, just as he'd expected him to be.

Wouldn't it be nice to be wrong someday?

Schooling his features into what he hoped was a darkly fathomless and stern expression, and nowhere near so stupid as to believe such a look would serve any purpose beyond the possible amusement of these particular men, he turned to the Gambler and the Gunslinger.

Standish, he saw, was still seated on his bench, though he'd shifted it away from the wall and was now straddling the thing, his cards arrayed before him in what looked to be a game of memory, and Larabee was still on the bed, sitting now, where he'd been stretched out before, his back to the wall, one leg stretched out before him , the other pulled up almost to his chest, molding what looked to be a lump of pale yellow wax into what could very well be a horse.

At first glance you could almost tell yourself they'd relaxed a bit, each of them having gone so far as to take their coats off, though only Larabee'd actually taken his hat off and the Sheriff couldn't quite picture Standish following his example and rolling his silk sleeves up like that, but there was a sense in the air about them, a sense of watchful derision that was damn well DARING him to prove what he knew was true, to do anything against their active defiance, that belayed the impression they'd so carefully sculpted.

Neither looked up or paid him the slightest attention.

"My Deputy been in?"

"You'd think so.," Larabee murmured, not bothering to so much as give him a nod, let alone a glance, of acknowledgement.

"Well," Standish no doubt felt compelled to add, no more willing to acknowledge his presence than Larabee," Mister Bradley certainly appears to."

With an admirable act of will he ignored the comment, ignored the cold knot of worry solidifying in his gut at hearing the Gambler call him "Mister" in place of "Sheriff" , and demanded,"Who put the empty liquorbottles on my desk?"

"Probably," a broad, predatory smile spread across Larabee's face as the Sheriff visibly bristled at his tone," whoever drank the liquor."

"Whomever., " Ezra corrected automatically.

Larabee stilled and very, VERY deliberately, did not react in any other way.

Wisely, Bradley ignored their little aside, "And that was?"

Standish looked up from his cards," Sir, what little we can see of your fine establishment would in no way have allowed us to bear witness to this incident which so perplexes you. However, one might suppose, as, of yourself and Deputy Dean, YOU were the last to leave last night, that you might well have grown too familiar and comfortable with the bottle and now plead ignorance that you might veil your transgressions, or, perhaps, that you might better succeed in diverting the blame to young Mister Dean."

Bradley gaped, impressed despite himself with the sheer daring of the logic with which he'd just been so casually bludgeoned.

In his cell Daniel chortled, and crowed," He just called you a drunk an' a Lair!!"

Caught off guard by the man's sudden entrance into their little game, and Bradley had the impression that very few men, drunk or sober, stepped into anything involving these two men unless there was a clear invitation for them to do so, both Standish and Larabee shot him a surprised, questioning look.

He wondered if they'd actually forgotten Daniel's presence.

Catching the looks Daniel turned uncharacteristically sober and defensive, "I weren't always a drunk."

Again ignoring their aside Bradley narrowed his gaze onto the Gambler,"Did you?"

With far more grace than he'd shown in his reaction to the drunken Doctor's words, Standish turned back to him, once more the picture of cool superiority, a single brow arching, "Would you care to be more specific, sir? Your question, as stated, is rather broad and I can assure you there are a great many things I have and have not done in the course of my life. If you wish a true and satisfactory answer you really will need to put forth a greater effort than you have thus far allowed."

He stared for several seconds, recalled Larabee's earlier assurance that he'd regret his policy against beating his prisoners before the week was out, suppressing the urge to reach through the bars and ring the younger man's neck , he gritted his teeth and ground out, "Call me a drunk and a liar?"

"I merely voiced my suppositions, which you do recall were requested of me. Assigning blame, if there is, indeed, any blame to assign, was not what was asked of me, nor would I have performed such an action even had it been otherwise. I would appreciate it though, and how, if you and Mister Waterston would refrain from putting words into my mouth."

"Lord knows he's got enough of them in there already."

He watched the flash of temper come and go in those startling green eyes, watched that aristocratic jaw work back and forth, back and forth, and held his breath, bracing himself against the explosion to come.

Yet the Southerner had made his own, neat, thrust against Larabee's pride and patience not so long ago, and perhaps in acknowledgement of the fact that his cellmate had let it pass, he contented himself with a crooked half smile, an almost shrug, and the comment, " Mister Larabee has always been regrettably free with his comments."

Damn, Bradley thought, wanting to wince, that may well be Standish playin' nice, but he was surprised the underlying loathing, not merely dislike, but actual LOATHING, didn't flay the flesh off of Larabee's bones were he sat.

Because he was watching for it, he saw Larabee's hand tighten and clench, crushing the emerging figure of the wax into an unrecognizable blob.

He shifted his gaze back to Standish, searched his cold and distant countenance.

"You can't keep doin' this.," he muttered. The comment was both unconscious and unintentional and he regretted it almost immediately. These men would not welcome his influence, already rested the role Judge Travis had thrust upon him.

"Your opinion on the matter is neither welcome nor appreciated.," Standish snapped.

"Too bad you have to put up with me anyway, eh?"

UUU

Outside the Jailhouse it was February, but it was February in the southwest, and an uncommonly warm one at that.

Inside the Jailhouse temperatures had dropped below freezing.

But, Deputy Dean thought, Larabee and Standish had shut up and that HAD to count for something.

Didn't it?

You'd think so, yet there was an edge to their silence that wore against the nerves no less than the cutting, sarcastic comments the Southerner had been lobbing at himself and the Sheriff for the last eighteen hours or more with such scathing ease.

Tipping his chair back on to two legs, and eyeing the ragged hole the Sheriff'd shot into the ceiling yesterday afternoon, Kevin marveled on how much things could change in so short a time. Only yesterday he'd been sitting here in pretty much the same position wishing the prisoners would just say something, ANYTHING, because the silence was rubbing against his nerves like a pebble in his boot, and then they'd started talking and he'd thought about sellin' his soul if it'd shut 'em up. And now they'd gone back to silence and he couldn't say that life was any better.

Life as a cowboy was startin' to look pretty damn good.

"Any change?"

He shifted his gaze to his boss, unable to prevent the frown that settled across his features from taking shape at what he saw there. Bradley looked tired, though that wasn't anything new, he'd ALWAYS looked tired, but there was a hollow, burned out look to him now that turned Kevin's stomach. People who looked like that tended not to care, about anything, and people who didn't care made mistakes that could get them, and you, killed.," No sir."

"Shit," the smile that shifted his bosses features went some little bit to easing Kevin's mind, but just a little.," I must look pretty damn bad if you're callin me "Sir". "

Kevin shrugged, and wondered about the shadows he saw in Bradley's eyes.

UUU

"Why did you leave Ezra?"

He had been so engrossed in the leather bound novel in his hands that he had ceased to mind the automatic comfort he found in the man's presence, so engrossed that he had, in fact, allowed himself the small betrayal of forgetting, for a moment, all that had occurred over the last six months, allowed himself to forget that neither Chris nor himself had proven worthy of the trust they had demanded, and now the letters on the page before him were naught but a blur as they swam in his vision, lost, with his equilibrium, in the tide of shock that washed over him like a wave of frigid, fetid air.

Immediately a silent cacophony of voices rose from the depths of his thoughts, enraged and affronted that Chris Larabee would dare such a thing, the force of their dissonance nearly blinding him.

Bringing his will to bear Ezra ruthlessly silenced the babbling multitude of his demons, each of them summoned and born of anger and hurt, of the fear he dared not acknowledge further, and forced the words on the page into their proper places, forced his eyes to focus on them.

Then, against the urgings of that dark and unfriendly thing which leered at him from his reflection with increasing frequency, he gave the man, the man he had been willing to die for ( he shied away from the damnable truth that he would STILL die for Chris Larabee, should the situation demand it of him) an out.

"Were you addressing me?"

Surely, Ezra thought, the man would not let what could not have been more than a passing moment of lunacy to further dictate his actions.

"Why. Did. You. Leave."

He realized he was shaking in the same moment he became aware of pulling his arm back with every intention of launching the book he was holding in that hand into Chris's face. He paused in the action, warred briefly with his inner instincts before bowing to the habits of a lifetime, and placed the book across his lap instead.

Taking several deep breaths he reminded himself that any fulfillment he might find in allowing himself such an abject loss of control would surely be eclipsed by the satisfaction the son of a bitch would no doubt garner in witnessing that lapse.

It did not, in any way, help.

They let the silence rise between them, familiar and comfortable in its hostile implications, safe in what it eclipsed and allowed to fester. This was nothing like the silence they had thus far inflicted upon the Jailhouse and its occupants, nothing like the silence they had allowed to stand between them until this moment, for the one had been a game and the other merely a defense against one another while this…this seethed with an unvoiced need for conflict and pain and blood.

"I," his voice was calm, almost pleasant, his words hard, clipped, "owe no explanation for my actions."

"No?"

He unclenched his jaw, met the Gunslinger look for look," No."

The silence stood, stretched…

And in that silence, filling up the distance they had so carefully placed between them, came the sense that he was reacting as Chris wanted him to. The sense that Chris could not have allowed himself the luxury of avoiding the question, yet had no real interest in hearing the answer, lest it force him into an acknowledgement of his own actions.

Ezra smiled," We are, neither of us, ignorant of the fact that my presence was considerably less than desirable to the good folk of Four Corners."

Chris flinched at the name, a fact which more than made up for the sickening knot of shame and yearning which had formed as he forced himself to speak it.

Eyes narrowing the Gunslinger returned fire, as it were," Why stay as long as you did then?"

Because I thought I could!, his mind wailed, Because I was enough of a fool to think it possible!," For a time it remained profitable to do so."

Chris smirked, an expression so wholly reminiscent of Buck that Ezra's fingers were curling around the book before he was able to regain control of his impulses. ," You never made any money stayin' on."

"Yet it kept me from incarceration.," He snapped,"You cannot honestly believe I would have remained had not Judge Travis held that specter over my head?"

"No," Chris's voice was soft, dangerous, " I never believed you would've."

The breath hissed out of him as Ezra unconsciously leaned away from the man, trying to scream , trying to speak, drawing into himself and away from the unexpected blow.

He didn't mean it, his mind stuttered, he COULDN'T mean it. It was an attack, surprisingly well aimed, and nothing more. His words had no bearing on the actual fact…

…the actual fact that Chris had never fully trusted him.

The actual fact that none of them had.

Ashamed, Chris watched as Ezra fought for balance, literally and figuratively, and silently cursed himself. He hadn't meant that.

Hadn't meant to give voice to it in any case.

"I know why you left.," the Gambler hissed, erasing any sense of guilt Chris might've been entertaining.," Why you fled like the worst example of a piece of shit coward."

"What's that old saying about it taking one to know one?"

"Exactly.," the man spat, without even a moments hesitation.

Under any other circumstances that ready reply would have given Chris pause, and some part of him filed it away to look at later, but that was all the consideration he was willing to give in that moment with his temper snapping at its chains, and his eyes clouding with a red mist," Nobody MADE you leave Standish."

No, Ezra thought, in their cowardice and their cruelty they left the final decision to me. I imagine doing so made it that much easier to look one another in the eye.

Something snapped.

Without the slightest preamble he gave an inarticulate sound of rage and launched himself at the Gunslinger, his hands automatically curling around the man's throat.

How dared he.

What did he know.

This man who could've had everything Ezra hadn't allowed himself to hope for.

This man who had farced him into the most untenable of situations.

They rolled to the floor, Chris managing to disengage Ezra's grasp in the fall, and ruthlessly using their momentum to dislocate Ezra's shoulder with one, quick, jerk.

Ezra snarled, actually SNARLED and attempted to regain his hold on the blonde's neck, only to have the breath knocked out of him as Chris landed a kick in the exact location of his abdominal wound.

Ezra's fist connect with Chris's jaw.

Chris's elbow landed in Ezra's eye.

Ezra's hands wound their way back around Chris's throat.

Damn you, he thought, using his grip to slam the other man's head against the floor, Damn you.

You did this, he thought, punctuating it by levering more force into his attack.

This is your fault., and Chris's head came down again, with a sickening crack.

DAMN YOU!

YOUR FAULT!

WHY?!?

And then the world went dark.

UUU

The world breaks us all.

Afterward, some of us are stronger at the broken places.

-Ernest Hemingway


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: Don't own 'em. Don't own anything.

Author's Note: just a little moment of amusement I felt like sharing. The other night I was reading a four Corner's Academy Fic at Lady Angel's Mag 7 Library , you with me here, it was about two in the morning, I needed to be up no later than five thirty, and I was looking at the clock thinking, Gee, I really need to get some sleep. Only, as so often happens, my poor beloved Ezra was in the hospital, in a coma actually, and I thought right back to myself ' but Ezra's DYING! I can't leave him NOW!' It cracked me up then and it cracks me up now. I mean, really. As if I didn't KNOW he'd be alright. Sheesh.

CHAPTER FOUR

He remembered a moment from his last days in Four Corners when he would have welcomed the seeming ease of death; would have proved himself a greater coward than any had previously supposed him to be, with no little relief that he might at last be free of those things which had forever hounded him in life.

It had occurred to him as he lay in that damnable bed in Nathan's clinic watching the surprise his words of insecurity had caused widen Chris's eyes, hating himself for speaking such a thing, hating himself for allowing such feelings to take root within him, that if he would but suit that thought to action, if he would but tare his stitches and allow himself to silently bleed out, he would welcome the grim specter of his Death with open armed gratitude.

Laying in his cell some six months later,still and silent on the bunk, staring with sightless, unblinking eyes at the ceiling above, he thought of that moment when Death had seemed to be all the kindness there could ever be in the world.

In his world.

His shoulder throbbed in time with his breathing, which he'd unconsciously matched to Chris's, as he listened to the industrious scratch of an unsteady pen against parchment echoing from the outer chamber. It was a wrenchingly lonely sound and it came to him that it could've broken his heart if only it had still been whole and strong enough _to_ break.

But broken hearts mended, did they not?

When, he wondered, had he begun to hope it might be so? What had ever possessed him that he had actually allowed an act of idiocy so great and reckless to subvert his every instinct? No object, having once been broken, could ever be put to rights. However well disguised the break would always remain as both a reminder and a weakness that could at any moment be used against you. He was a fool.

He would have killed Chris had the timely intervention of the Sheriff and his Deputy not prevented him from doing so.

For what reason, he wondered, Because the man's words had struck true and drawn blood? Because he'd hurt him?

No.

Because he'd hurt the others. Because his leaving had meant enough_to_ hurt the others when his did not. Because they'd_wanted_ him to stay,_needed_ him to stay, and in thrall to that driving force would have forgiven him any transgression, would have excused any sin.

Because he'd left when he could've stayed.

He could remember only one other time when he'd wanted anything as badly as he'd wanted to stay in Four Corners. Not to be merely tolerated as any other necessary evil, but to be welcomed, to belong there as seamlessly as the others, and that memory alone should have been warning enough.

He was lucky to have ended this as well as he had.

God he'd take it back if he could.

He would.

Almost directly across from him Chris groaned and shifted on his bunk, and Ezra unconsciously tensed and held his breath as he waited for him to settle.

He would have killed him.

I don't hate you, he thought to the man .

Then he thought, Yes I do.

He'd been content in his life before Four Corners, marginally happy even, and now thanks to this man, this man who'd so carefully and ruthlessly loosened the first brick in his defenses, he knew he'd never see such days again.

This man who'd so casually walked away, heedless and uncaring of the precipice from which he'd left his friends to dangle.

Left him.

It was dangerous to view the world from such an angle, too high up to see or be seen, too high up to believe that somewhere down below there might be a net waiting to catch him as it had the others.

UUU

Kevin stared at the note on the desk, picked it up, read it.

Read it again.

Carefully he lowered himself into the chair behind the desk, staring at the note in his hands as if he'd never seen anything of its like before and didn't expect to ever again.

Well.

Well.

It was thorough enough, explaining, in Bradley's cramped and careful scrawl, where he'd gone and why, as well as what he should do under almost any conceivable circumstance.

Including a jailbreak.

Or, much worse in comparison, a delay in the Judge's arrival.

Good God, it just kept getting worse.

UUU

"Damn it Buck, MOVE!"

Growling Buck let himself stumble forward a step without actually falling into Beau as J.D. shoved him from behind, muttering curses under his breath. Two and a half days of hard riding hadn't done a whole hell of a lot to sweeten anyone's personality, and the fact that Chris and Ezra were waiting for them at the end of it …well it hadn't taken any man one of them more than a day to realize just what their reactions were going to be when they looked up to find the five of them standing outside their cells.

It made him want to wince and smile all at the same time.

Still, he knew he damn well better remember that it wasn't just Chris he'd find in those cells this time; that there was Ezra to deal with now and things might not go as…pleasantly has they always had before. Ezra changed the known dynamics between people in ways Buck didn't expect to ever understand but knew well enough to respect.

He didn't want to do this.

Chris was mean when you cornered him, but Ezra, Ezra was the one you needed to watch. Ezra was the one who'd do anything, ANYTHING, necessary to survive, and though he'd give you a warning shot, if you ignored it, he rarely aimed to wound.

But Ezra didn't like to fight., He thought to himself in a sing-song voice, unable to prevent the sarcastic smile from twisting his lips as he did. It was true enough, Ezra DIDN'T like to fight; that man would allow himself to suffer almost any inconvenience or discomfort to avoid conflict, whatever shape or form it might take.

Not because he wasn't GOOD at it, mind you, but because he WAS.

When he had to be

He was a menace. They all knew it, but the fact of the matter was that he was THEIR menace, and Buck'd be damned before he'd let the man just drug everybody and waltz outta town like that.

From over Beau's back Vin caught his eye and Buck didn't doubt the man was thinking the same thing he was.

"Man is born to trouble, as the sparks fly upward. Job verse seven."

Buck shot a look at Josiah, who had yet to dismount, a distant, unreadable look on his weathered face. The cowboy frowned, still annoyed with the both the ex-preacher and Nathan for coming along. Neither one of them had ever bothered to hide or soften their opinions of Ezra, and if he didn't blame them for what had happened to everyone it was impossible not to recognize that they OUGHT to be blamed.

One kind word , he thought bitterly, just one goddamn kind word was all he ever wanted outta you people.

Even so, he couldn't stop himself from thinking that of all the quotes and proverbs and mystical sayings the man had muttered and proclaimed over the last few years not a one had summed everything up quite so well as that last.

Born to trouble…yeah, if that wasn't a fit description of the men he rode with then Buckley Aldus ( And he'd let Vin and any of the others go right on calling him Bucklin so long as doing so kept 'em from learnin' that his middle name was Aldus, of all things) Wilmington didn't know what was or ever would be.

Suddenly Buck lurched forward, letting out a rather impressive string of curses as J.D. once again shoved, and asked," Well, hat they hell are we waiting for?"

UUU

Kevin rose to his feet, but slowly because he had the feeling that he'd probably end up regretting any sudden movements around the men lined up before him.

There were five of them in all, ranged around his desk in apparently random order, the variance in age and dress giving him pause long enough for the taller one with the mustache and the one with his hair hanging to his shoulders to pass a look between them.

There was something in that look, something too much like that thing between Standish and Larabee which was beyond his limited ability to name or define, that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

"You're not Bradley," the mustached cowboy stated, or accused.

"I'm not," he greed, shaking his head, rapidly from side to side, too much like a child in denial for his liking or comfort.

"Then who the hell 're ya?"

He gaze shot to the man with the long hair, and he had time enough to register the familiarity of the face in connection with the lazy Texan drawl, before the mustached one spoke up again.

"Well boy, you gonna answer or just stand there gaping like a guppy left on the bank?"

He felt his eyes narrow. _Boy_ was it? Just who the hell did these people think they were, to walk into his jail like they owned it and start railroading him? Besides, that _boy_ standing next to him was obviously younger than his own twenty six years.," My name," he snapped," is DEPUTY Kevin Dean. Feel free to call me Deputy."

The youngest shot the man a silencing look, which only seemed to amuse both him and the Texan, before unconsciously hitching his gun belt and saying , " Well, _Deputy_, my name's J.D. Dunne. Feel free to call _me_ Sheriff. ," over his head the mustached man and the oldest looking of the bunch exchanged glances of mingled amusement and surprise.

The Sheriff, if that's what he really was, didn't see the look, but Kevin did and surprised himself by filing it away for later.

"Now," Dunne continued, " Judge Travis sent word that you have a couple of prisoners in custody that might be of interest to us."

Was it even possible to be patronized by someone that young, he wondered.," And who would that be?"

The oldster on the boy's right placed a hand on his shoulder as he took a deep enough breath to have Kevin bracing for the on coming conflict, and overrode whatever he was about to say with his own rumbling baritone.," That would be Christopher M. Larabee and Ezra P. Standish, Deputy Dean."

Irritated, because now he felt like he was being placated and he couldn't see how one was any better than the other, Kevin made a show of checking the lists on his desk,"Oh, those two.," Then, because he wasn't stupid and he _had_ spent the last couple of days and nights around Standish, he dropped, with a deliberately casual disregard, "Doc just finished with 'em."

Once again, after the situation had resolved itself, he'd look back on that moment and think that he really should've just kept his damn mouth shut.

Before the words had finished rolling off his tongue the mustached man reached across the desk , grabbed a hold of him, and yanked him bodily across the desk, scattering papers and pencils .

"WHAT THE HELL'D THEY NEED A DOCTOR FOR! WHAT THEY HELL'D YOU PEOPLE DO?"

It took three of the others to pull him off, but that didn't matter as he was almost immediately pulled to his feet and shoved back against the desk by the Texan," Answer the question!"

"We didn't do anything," He insisted, realizing too late that that probably wasn't the question they wanted answered, right about the time that he remembered his answer wasn't specifically honest either. After all he'd smacked Standish upside the head with the butt of his gun yesterday now hadn't he?

Kevin really, really, didn't want to tell these men about that.

"What's wrong with them," the Negro asked with every bit as much menace as his friends .

"Standish attacked Larabee yesterday afternoon, nearly killed him."

Everybody stilled.

"What?"

He turned his attention to Dunne. The boy had paled and had the look of someone who'd just lost something precious and irreplaceable.,"Why?"

Nervously he eyed the men, every damn one of whom looked like their world had just stopped spinning, licking his lips nervously. Of all the damn times for Bradley to fade into the crowds…if he didn't know better he'd think the man had known this was going to happen, damn his miserable hide.

Hell, he probably did. He'd left instructions for a jailbreak hadn't he?

"They were arguing."

"They always argue.," Dunne snapped.

"I know.," Kevin stated, darting a quick look at each of the men in turn, gauging them. ,"Larabee threw him against the wall yesterday, and then later…," what was he supposed to say? HE didn't know what finally set the man off. ,"They were arguing and I heard Standish call him a ..a piece of shit coward…"

"EZRA called CHRIS a piece of shit," Dunne demanded, flabbergasted and obviously disbelieving .

"He did."

"What, just like that?"

"Yes sir."

"In those EXACT words?"

Before he could catch himself he looked to the others," Is he soft in the head at all?"

"Answer the question, " the mustached man snapped, shoving him with enough force to make him stumble back against the desk and wince in anticipation of the bruises he'd have by supper time.

"He called him a piece of shit COWARD, actually, and…"

"Why the hell didn't you do anything to stop 'em," the Texan demanded, the corners of his mouth white with tension.

"They haven't stopped arguing and fightin' since they got here! If we rushed back every damn time they started…"

"Show some respect and watch yer damn language," and once again the be-mustached cowboy knocked him back against the desk for emphasis.

"Touch me one more time and I'll lock your DAMN ass up," he snarled, which surprised the five men who were still surrounding him (cutting off any chance of escape, he thought to himself), but not near as much as it surprised him. Hell, maybe Larabee was wearin' off on him.

It was the Texan who broke the moment, giving him a glaring once over, and muttering," Fuck it.," before turning on his heels and stalking to the cells.

Kevin blinked and realized he was suddenly alone as the rest fallowed after him.

UUU

Christ no, Chris thought, clawing at the edges of consciousness, hearing the all too familiar voice of Vin Tanner mutter a word he'd never expected to hear out of the man, fallowed by the sound of heavy footsteps on the plank flooring.

It was the last thought he had before slipping into the darkness of his own drug induced dreams.

UUU

Still lying on his bunk Ezra closed his eyes, terribly unamused and wearied by the certainty of what was about to take place.

He knew they would come; had known from Sheriff Bradley's first utterance of Judge Travis's name that the good Judge would impart the knowledge of their location to those peacekeepers who yet remained in Four Corners.

And of course it was just his luck that they would arrive now, when Chris's bruises were still so vivid, so fresh, and the blame so thick upon the ground.

UUU

Vin blanched at his first sight of the Gunslinger laying unconscious on his bunk and nobody blamed him. The bruising on his neck was thick and impressive, as was the bruise on his jaw. He was pale and disheveled, and there was blood in his hair.

And it was Ezra, EZRA, who had done this two him.

"Deputy get back here and unlock this door," Nathan commanded, half turning to shout. Then, turning back to them, gaze settling on Chris's prone form,"J.D. get my bag."

And the younger man might've done it too, was already turning away from the sight of Ezra lying on the bunk in the cell across from Chris, his one eye swollen and black, both eyes closed despite the fact that he was clearly awake, his shoulder straining against the dust and sweat stained fabric of his once white shirt in a sickeningly familiar way, when Nathan spoke again.

"Goddamn it Ezra, what the hell did you do!"

From the corner of his eyes he saw Ezra flinch, or grimace, at the words and J.D. stopped dead as everything inside of him went still and cold.

He would always look back on what happened next as one of his finer moments, yet not once would he actually remember taking hold of the older, larger man by the scruff of his shirt or hauling him out past his friends, past the gaping Deputy Dean, or pausing on the board walk to hurl the healer into the street with less visible exertion than it would have taken him to toss a saddle up on his mare's back.

"Stay the HELL OUT," he roared, "All you've ever done is hound on him and criticize him! Did you even LOOK at him! EVER! He's not any better off than Chris, but of course it's HIS fault! IT'S ALWAYS HIS FAULT AND I'M SICK OF IT. YOU HEAR ME? SICK OF IT! YOU TRY TO COME BACK IN HERE AND I'LL PUT A BULLET IN YOU, SO HELP ME GOD, I SWEAR IT ON MY MOTHER"S GRAVE, I WILL," he whirled around, nearly running into Josiah, who reached out to steady him," Don't touch me and don't TRY IT! JUST DON'T TRY IT! YOU AREN'T ANY BETTER! ALWAYS SITTING THERE JUDGING HIM, AS IF YOU HAD THE RIGHT!AS IF YOU WERE ANY BETTER!GET OUT THERE WITH YOUR FRIEND AND STAY THE HELL AWAY FROM ME , THIS JAIL AND EZRA! AT LEAST HE NEVER PRETENDED TO BE ANYTHING BUT WHAT HE IS!"

Then he stalked past the ex-preacher, and slammed the door on any protest the man might have mustered through his shock.

He paused inside the jail, realizing, in a dim sorta way, that Buck and Vin were watching him with a bemused, glassy eyed, caution, as if they really didn't know what to make of what they'd just seen. Or the boy standing in front of them, face flushed in rage, his chest heaving as he took great , gulping breaths, hands wrapped around the buts of his guns in a tight, white knuckled grip.

He glared and snapped," Shut the fuck up.!"

Then, snagging the chair Buck had knocked over when he pulled Dean across the desk, he stalked back to the cells.

They could every one of them go to hell for all he cared.

UUU

Josiah: You think you know what kind of man you are?

Ezra: I know I've earned some measure of respect, of trust.

Josiah: You blame your friends? Blame yourself! Look inside your own heart Ezra. Face your own demons.

-Magnificent Seven Episode, Serpents


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I wonder what would actually happen if I started claiming ownership? I mean, do you think anyone would really care? Like so much that I'd open the door someday to a group of flawless suits who would then very politely and very firmly explain to me why I don't own the Magnificent Seven or anything to do with them, who exactly does, and why I will immediately cease and desist or face the consequences of their impressively swift and vicious legal action? Might be kinda neat. I mean, really, what are they gonna sue me for? All I have worth mentioning is my books and they'd have one hell of a bloody fight if they thought they were gonna take THOSE, I can promise you. Anyway, you know the drill. Not mine. Never will be. Though we can all, of course, dream…

Author's Note: It just occurred to me that some of you kind folks might like to know, in case it worried you or anything, that however long it might take me to post these chapters I WILL finish this story. Come hell or high water. Promise.

Chapter Five

"Well," Vin drawled with easy an amusement he didn't really feel," guess he told them."

Buck snorted then stalked toward the door, taking a hold of the latch even as it began to swing open. The ladies man shot him a smug and vicious grin then jerked the door towards himself before slamming it forward with the same force he would've put into a leveling blow.

Whoever was on the other side of the door, whichever of the newly exiled pair had made the bad choice to attempt reentry, yelped and stumbled with the first action. But they didn't let go and that was their second mistake.

There was a crunch as door and face met and Vin winced, not so much in sympathy as in appreciation. Beyond the likelihood of a broken nose or even cheek bones that door wouldn't have suffered from a good sanding,. Weather it be Nate or Josiah on the other side of it they'd have a hell of time getting all the splinters out.

Vin hated splinters, but he smirked, appreciating the belated justice in the situation.

The smirk shifted into an all out grin fit to match Buck's own when the man outside let loose a colorful and expressive string of words you'd probably never here in Church.

But then again maybe you would. Josiah wasn't known to be too particular once you got him goin'.

"So," Buck turned to face him, leaning against the door with an easy disregard for the possible threat of those without," which one do you wanna take?"

"Mighty polite of ya't at ask, Pard. After all, ya only broke the poor bastards nose."

He shrugged,"Might've done. It's his own fault."

"Is it now," Somehow Vin couldn't wait to hear Buck's justification on this one.

"Yes Sir, it is."

"And how do ya figure that?"

Another shrug, " He should of expected it."

And maybe he should've. Buck hadn't wanted Nate or Josiah to come with them for this, he hadn't either if you were gonna get particular about it all, and neither one of them had bothered to hide their opinion of those two of their companions since well before Ezra's escape. They'd snubbed them at every opportunity without actually pushing them away all together, and violence, while rarely _sought_, was a part of their nature that they never tried to hide from or hide. Either one of them, the Ex-Preacher or the Healer, should've known the danger of pushing them too far. Should've been able to reckon where the line was drawn and what lay on the other side.

Now Nate had done it; had run sprinting across that careful line, that line that was more like a trench or a gorge, that they'd so carefully set between them, and neither of them should've been surprised to suddenly find themselves injured.

Though, of course, none of them had expected to see J.D.'s temper snap like a twig during a drought and a shock like that could throw a man off.

Who would've thought the boy had it in him.

Or that he'd have the strength to drag Nate around the room _and _throw him out the door.

Shit, the things you learned about people when they were stressed.

"So."

Both he and Buck turned to Deputy Dean, each a little chagrined for having forgotten or dismissed his presence, to see him standing pretty much as they'd left him, only he _was_ standing now, arms folded across his chest, gaze cast to the ceiling so as not to land on them.

Maybe that wasn't right though. Maybe his eyes weren't cast toward the ceiling, but Heavenward, as if he were praying for some kind of Devine aid or guidance.

Vin couldn't hold it against the toe-headed youth if he was. After all, he'd only signed on to deal with the day to day trials and troubles of any other Deputy in any other dust-pit frontier town, which in no way included having to spend some _three days _watching over Chris and Ezra as they sat festering in his cells. Or dealing with the rest of them come to that. God knew HE wouldn't want to deal with the seven of them, yes he included himself, on anything but the best of days, and even then only when they were someone else's problem.

Let the Deputy seek aid beyond his earthly means if he thought it would help.

It wouldn't, but you couldn't blame the man for trying.

"How can we help ya Deputy," Just like that Buck was his pleasant and friendly self, as if he and Vin hadn't bullied and menaced the man not even five minutes before.

"Explanations are good.," the Deputy intoned, still glancing upward.

Buck shot him a look, asking what they ought to tell this stranger who still had Chris and Ezra locked in his cells.

"It's complicated.," Vin offered, knowing it wouldn't be left there, but wanting it to be.

"Still."

"Well…," Buck started, then stopped, leaving the word hanging there cold and uncomfortable .

Vin stepped into the space left open by the other man's hesitation, realizing for the first time how much he'd changed since signing on with Larabee and the rest, how much he'd changed from even a year ago when he would have let the silence stand or be filled by another," Judge Travis hire'd us some," he did some quick thinking, added up all the days and weeks and months since that first day, surprised by how long it'd really been," three ye'rs back to work as Peacekeepers out in Four Corners.," he didn't stop to ask the Deputy if he'd heard of the place, sometimes it seemed as if only God hadn't and Josiah was working on that one,"He wanted a Sheriff out of us and J.D.'s the only one who'd take the job, so you ken stop wonde'rin 'bout wether 'er not he's really a Sheriff 'cause 'e is. The rest of us," he nodded and though it was directed specifically at Buck the gesture somehow managed to encompass both the men outside and those in the cells," well ... like I said, Judge hire'd us as Peacekeepers and you ken jest go a head an' call us that. There're those who'd argue with ya if ya did. But you could call us that."

"Standish and Larabee," the Deputy prompted, eyes still cast upward.

It was Vin's turn to hesitate. What was he supposed to say about those two that didn't come so close to the truth that it blinded ? How was he supposed to explain to this kid, this stranger, that Chris and Ezra were the core of their odd little family and it just didn't work when they weren't there? That even though they _knew_ why Ezra'd left, they couldn't tell him why Chris had gone? Why, on a day that hadn't been any different from any other, he'd jest walked over to the stable, saddled his horse and rode out, and that once that happened there hadn't been any chance of Ezra's stay'in? That once Chris was gone, after two and a half years of _tryin_ to stay, Ezra'd given up the game? Given up on them all?

He looked at Buck, who glanced up from his boots to catch his eye, at a loss.

"Chris and Ezra are ours," the cowboy supplied easily, " we just lost'em for a bit."

Dean nodded, as if that made all the sense in the world,"They killed a man."

He said it like a man who knew what he said wasn't going to change anything, but still felt it ought to be said, just the same.

Vin almost smiled at him for it.

"Who they kill," Buck asked, then shifted against the door, almost like it bothered him that no one outside was trying' to get back in.

"And why," Vin added, noting Buck's movement and wondering, absently, if this jail had a back door.

The Deputy nodded his head, " Pretty good questions those. On any other day I'd tell you to ask Sheriff Bradley, but, of course, he's left town for a bit, damn his _miserable_ hide, and didn't really say when he'll be back. Which leaves us with me. And I don't know. Which is nothing new."

He jumped a little when both Vin and Buck demanded," He left you _alone_? With Chris _and_ Ezra?"

"Yes," the Deputy sighed," he did. May he rot in festering pieces."

UUU

Ezra fought the surprising urge to open his eyes, to turn and face the boy upon whom he had broken the last shred of his frail and battered honor. Silently he cursed and raged, knowing that if there was kindness in the world these moments would never find him, would never hunt him until the air burned in his lungs and the tears poured from his eyes, until the last fading mimicry of hope had burned to naught but a shapeless dusting of ash.

But kindness is absent from the world, a fact which he has attempted always to keep within his possession, while at the same time ignoring its smug and gleeful presence. Any hope, if he had ever enjoyed such a careless emotion, that it might someday come to be otherwise had long since fled to seek its solace elsewhere.

I am _empty, _he thought, and could taste the lie.

"You're not asleep, Ezra."

No, he is not, but he could have wished that he were if it would have made any difference.

"Nathan was outta line. I'm sorry."

And what difference does it make? There is always regret and there is always guilt, neither of which Nathan Jackson will ever acknowledge, just as there is always the pain and the doubt and the emptiness he had imagined could be banished or filled with the light and warmth of others.

J.D. has committed no act so heinous against him as those to which Ezra himself can lay claim , having lied to and mislead the boy to preserve his own comfort, has, in fact stood in stark defiance of those whom he has always idolized and emulated in his defense.

And he sat there, rocking back and forth on the uneven legs of his chair, apologizing.

It made him nauseous to think of all the goodness in the boy, which he and the others had so often, so thoughtlessly, cheapened and disregarded as foolish innocence and naiveté .

"Someone did a lousy job of setting your shoulder there Ez. Soon as Buck and Vin finish up with the Deputy we'll set it right."

He concentrated on the shadows behind his closed eyelids, wrapping the silence implied in that darkness around himself as another might have built a wall. He would have killed Chris in his anger and his pain, in his jealousy and his love and this boy would never understand. _Could _never understand, as such inclinations were far beyond the lighted realms through which he made his way. Ezra did not wonder at the small seed of gratitude he felt toward whatever being or beings dictated such matters for the simple fact that J.D., at least, would never know the dark horrors which had come to rest within the labyrinthine corridors of his person and his life.

"Ezra..."

He rolled onto his side, biting his tongue hard enough to draw blood as his shoulder protested the movement and swallowed the coppery liquid as it pooled in his mouth.

There., he thought. He could make his intentions no clearer unless he spoke them, which would serve no better purpose than to prove, yet again, that his will could not stand against the simple presence of even one of his former companions

"You don't have to look at me if you don't wanna, but turning your back to me isn't gonna make me just go away. If you want that, you're going to have to _ask_ for it."

It was the only thing he could have said which would have the Gambler even considering speech and as soon as he realized he _was _considering it Ezra silently cursed. He would not be manipulated.

Not by this boy.

Not by any of them.

Not ever again.

UUU

Weak and trembling Ezra stumbled a bit as he came around the bend, caught up in the odd sensation of familiarity, of having walked this path in days past, catching his foot on a protruding rock. He had no idea where he was nor of how long he'd been walking, but he knew beyond any doubt that he'd not go a step further. Thus resolved he didn't even bother to glance about him in search of something to sit upon, or perhaps a shaded area out of the way (that same sense of familiarity told him he would find none of these even if he did), but let his legs collapse beneath him. He came down hard on the heels of his hands and his knees, the rough gravel of the path digging deep into his flesh, drawing blood.

Again time slipped from him and when he raised his head to view his surroundings he had no concept of how great or small a span of moments had passed. It might well have been days since he allowed himself to fall, it might only have been seconds. Such knowledge was beyond him. He had no particular interest in it in any case; for his part his lungs were no longer burning and the ache in his shoulder, a constant, wrenching, pain he thought he might carry until he was at last laid beneath the warm and welcoming earth, was once again bearable and that was enough.

Slowly, with no small difficulty, he made it back to his feet, fully concentrating on each and every step necessary to accomplish such a task, lest he once again stumble and plummet to the rough and unfriendly ground.

Once he was again standing erect he allowed his gaze to further pursue his surroundings, though this made him dizzy and he found himself staring at one spot for several seconds, every so often, and did not try to curb the, action which seemed to relive the lightheadedness and stave of the nausea he could feel easing along behind it.

Wherever he was it wasn't where he had started, his first glance, taken from the vantage of his hands and knees, was enough to tell him that, though he'd not taken in the detail he could now claim. Behind him, before him, on either side of him, there was not but lush and verdant growth, and, of course, the path he'd (presumably) fallowed here. The path which he quickly turned away from without knowing why. Few of the plants, none of which he could put a name to, (though that, at least, was in no way surprising, horticulture had never been an interest of his), have bloomed, he could see their blossoms still tight, and somehow resolute, in their buds. Those few that have are well away from his path and, but for a flash of color in the distance, screened from his sight.

He noted, without understanding why or how he would have come to such knowledge, that there were fewer blooms than there had been and that those few seemed faded and frail.

Noting these things without pause he accepted the reality of some odd mischief being set afoot and in doing so negated any urge he might have to dwell on the many foibles of the situation. Instead he turned his attention to the path he'd been walking , to the direction he'd been traveling.

There was a fence, some ten yards distant, much abused and actually broken down in one place. The area around that singular opening was slightly worn and damaged, yet whoever had trespassed hadn't ventured much past the fence itself and, though the area was healing, he could see the new growth even from his distant vantage, the sight of it infuriated him.

It should be healed by now he thought. It should be healed.

Looking again to the "fence", which stretched as far as the eye could see in both directions with no apparent indication of what it was keeping in or out or, come to that, apart, he wondered why he didn't think "wall". The structure was several feet taller than he, if he were to hold his arms straight above his head his fingers would not reach the top of it, and constructed of weather worn red bricks. Somehow this fence, or wall, he thought, gave the impression, not of age but of endurance; as if it had born the inevitable erosion of its mortar and brick as stoically as it might, yet expected that still more would be asked of it.

He could fix it, he thought, though he could see that another had already been at the task, could see that the opening was once considerably larger though the mortar work was faulty. There were several of the newer, brighter, bricks in a heap upon the ground where the repairs had obviously crumbled. He could fix that, and do a better job than whomever had already been at that task.

It surprised him to realize how very much he wanted to do this thing , to rebuild this much abused "fence" with his own two, well cared for, hands. Much more than a want, the urge to rebuild was something close to a need, something he could only think to describe, even to himself, as an itch. He had never NEEDED to do anything so much in his entire life.

Yet, at the same time, he could not lift his foot and take a step, could not make himself begin the endeavor. There was a reluctance, an odd, shy little bit of it, hiding somewhere in his mind, and he found that he was not so terribly sure about this manual labor as he thought he was.

The idea of leaving that hole bare, of leaving the rest of the masonry to crumble and erode near terrified him, and he could feel the anger licking at its heels, urging it and himself, on, neither of which he'd care to describe as wholly comfortable. Yet the idea of sealing it and reinforcing the structure, making any further incursions impossible, left him feeling empty and weary and terribly, bitterly, disappointed.

All of which he dismissed as easily as one such as he dismisses anything he'd rather not acknowledge or think of, that is to say quite easily and with only the simplest of logic. He could not, after all, remain where he was, it was only logical that he do SOMETHING and rebuilding that "wall or "fence" or what-have-you was as good a way to occupy himself as any.

As good a way as any, he repeated to himself and could taste the lie.

UUU

The streets were starting to fill up with the usual evening traffic when J.D. finally came outside, tight lipped and subdued, to throw himself into the chair Buck and Vin had brought outside for just that purpose.

"He say anything," Buck asked and handed him the cup he was cradling between his hands.

He sniffed at the steaming contents and his mouth watered as the aroma of beef and vegetables wafted up to him, his stomach growling in protest of having been left empty and ignored for so long.," No, and he fell asleep a little bit ago."

"For real," Vin asked from underneath his hat. Sitting as he was, feet propped up on the railing, crossed at the ankles, hat pulled down low enough to cover most of his face, J.D. had almost been willing to bet that the Texan had fallen asleep until he spoke.

"Pretty sure."

"Chris wake up yet ?"

Swallowing a mouthful of the hot soup, he shook his head.

"I wish he'd get on with it.," Buck muttered," If nothing else, he'll talk to us. He won't be pleasant about it, but it'll still be a hell of a lot better then bein' ignored."

J.D. wondered about that. After all, Chris probably hadn't wanted to be found any more the Ezra had, and Chris didn't always act the way you expected of him. Maybe he'd talk. Maybe he wouldn't . Until today he'd have said nothing in the world could keep Ezra quite for more than twenty minuets and look where that would have gotten him.

"Dean said the Doc dosed 'im jest before we got 't town. More 'n likely he won't wake up 'till sometime tomorrow."

"Great.," Buck muttered, then smiled at one of the working girls who was making eyes at him from her balcony. She was pretty enough, but she was wasting her time. Whatever else he did for it, Buck never paid for sex. He'd been raised by the working girls who inhabited the brothel his mother had worked and he'd seen what the life did to girls like the one down the street. He'd take a vow of chastity and spend the rest of his life in a monastery before he contributed to that.

"How ken ya tell?"

J.D. shot the Tracker a look, eyebrows somewhere near his hairline,"Tell what?"

"If 'e really 'sleepin' 'er jest actin' like it."

He rubbed his eyes, which had started to burn long before Dean had lit the lanterns inside," Hell Vin, you sat with him at Nathan's clinic as often as I did. I just got used to it."

"How?"

J.D. wondered, if he hadn't been so tired, if he'd be losing his temper right then. After all, he'd just spent the better part of the day being completely ignored by Ezra and he really would've rather talked about almost anything else at that moment," When he's sick or injured it's easy to tell; if he's awake his breathing is even, and calm, normal, but the second he falls asleep it gets strained, and you can tell, just from the sound of it, that he's hurt.," he shrugged and almost spilled the soup," I can't do it when he's okay."

He didn't see the pleased smile that slid across Vin's features and then back into hiding. Well, the Texan thought, he's comin' 'long jest fine.

J.D. rubbed at his eyes again and tried to hide a yawn that almost cracked his jaw, "Horses been taken care of?"

"Quite a while back.," Vin didn't feel the need to add that it was Nathan and Josiah who'd seen to it, or that the two of them had been sitting in the exact same positions as they now were, watching them and sayin' not a word.

"Good."

Then, because he knew the kid and could see the last few months stepping up to tap J.D. on the shoulder and finally overwhelm him, Buck took back the cup he'd handed him, rising to his feet as he did so in one swift and oddly graceful motion,"Come on."

"Huh," the boy blinked up at him, then began to glare.

"You ain't passing out on the porch."

"I'm not..."

"Yes, you are. Now get up. I'll take ya over to the boardin' house, where you're gonna get some rest..."

"Oh, really," J.D. snarled as he launched to his feet, temper making an impressive comeback.

"Yes REALLY," Buck snapped, jamming a finger into the boys chest, "I'll have Miss Masiey fix a plate for ya and you can come back for the late shift."

"Who the hell died and put you in charge!"

"J.D. . . ."

"To hell with it.," the boy spat, then, shooting the men on the porch a fairly decent imitation of Chris's glare, stalked off down the street.

Buck watched him go, glaring at the odd passerby who proved brave enough to shoot him a curious look, and didn't need Vin's quiet admonishment to let him go. Ezra hadn't been willing to talk to the boy and now he wasn't willing to talk to _them_ without a fight, and Buck would just as soon avoid another one of those.,"He's not gonna be okay if they don't come back."

"Nope.,"Vin agreed, leaving it unsaid that none of them would be.

UUU

We weren't lost. We knew where we were, alright, but we wouldn't go home.

-James Thurber


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: Nope. Not mine.

Author's Note: Sorry this took so long. Really, really sorry.

CHAPTER SIX

He'd thought to be a Priest once, in his former life, before he'd known death, before the pleasures and pains of the flesh overwhelmed his senses; thought to safeguard the Faith of others against the trials and tribulations of their hard and bitter lives.

Lord forgive me my failures, he thought to himself, draining the last of the whiskey in his glass, If it is Your will to do so.

Nodding to the barkeep and catching his eye across the half-empty bar Josiah indicated his empty shot glass. The man nodded back and sent one of his girls over with a bottle.

He wasn't going to ask for that bottle, or let the girl leave it, not yet. That was for later, when the smoke hung thick and heavy in the cramped and crowded barroom and the laughter of the cheaper whores, of this girl, had grown brittle and tinny.

Later he'd let her or some other leave the bottle, and he'd ask for another, but not yet.

Not while he could still tell himself he didn't need it.

He smiled at the woman as she topped his glass off , tried not to flinch at the bolts of pain which radiated from his nose in response, and murmured his thanks. He wasn't immune to the coquettish lilt to her lips, or the practiced sway of her hips, but ignored them just the same.

Another night...

She smiled back at him, offered the bottle as he'd known she would, and he waved it away with his thanks. It was a small victory, and one which he doubted he would ever share. Yet how often since the loss of Chris and Ezra had he managed to turn away from the bottle when it was offered? Or even when it wasn't, for that matter?

He snorted into his glass as he brought it back to his lips, wincing as his nose protested once again, relishing the familiar burn as the cheap whiskey slid down his throat to settle in his belly and pool there, radiating warmth.

He needed that warmth, needed the sweet, searing pain that at one and the same time comforted and condemned him for the sins he could not escape.

Comfort and condemnation. The continual themes of his life, with the one always there to balance the other.

Yet what comfort was there for him now, as he sat there, condemned at last by his own conscious and the angry words and accusations of his young friend? Accusations he had no defense against. He'd turned Ezra away when he came to him for...what had it been?...help, understanding, guidance...turned away _from_ Ezra to better sit in judgment of him and in doing so had failed him. Had failed to see that people can and do change when there is the want and a chance to do so. Had failed to remember that Ezra, careful, manipulative Ezra had never been the man he'd thought him to be.

Or had never been _only_ the man he'd thought him to be.

Ezra was the consummate conman, after all, an often times successful conman, and Josiah damned himself for not seeing his game for what it was.

What had he told Maude that day in the Tavern?

"_Does anybody know him? Sometimes, there are some things, I think I know of him, but he almost always surprises me."_

And hadn't he fallowed that with the simple, and damnably accurate, observation which so stung his memories now, painting them with guilt and regret?

" _Situations and circumstances dictate our actions and character, as they change so do we all."_

He'd said the words, and meant them. He'd thought he believed them, yet he couldn't have. _Clearly_ he couldn't have. And in the face of that lack of belief, that lack of _Faith_, Ezra's own faith, in them, in himself, had withered and weakened.

He'd had no reason to stay.

They never _gave_ him a reason to stay.

Or, much worse, what reason he might have found they snatched away from him.

Carelessly. Callously.

_Thoughtlessly_.

That was the nastiest bit of it. That neither he, nor Nathan, nor any of the others who'd disapproved of the Gambler and his presence among the Peacekeepers, ever actually _thought_ about what they were doing to him.

As if he were somehow less than them and that made it okay.

"_Is Ezra not a man then, capable of taking care of himself," He'd asked Vin that, sitting on the roof of the Church, the both of them sweaty and tired from their labor and the stress of watching their friends fall apart._

"_You don't much like him do you Josiah?"_

He'd seen the dismay in the younger man's eyes as he asked the question, the silent shock, and he'd prevaricated as perhaps he shouldn't have,_"_ _I wouldn't go nearly that far into it, brother."  
_

"_Josiah," Vin's voice had been hard then, unyielding and he'd sounded less like himself and more like Chris than Josiah would've previously credited. _

Thus had come the honesty he'd known would only serve to further vilify him.

"_I don't understand how a man can do the things he's done and not feel even the slightest bit of remorse, of guilt. He'd swindle a family of their last dime, using any and all means necessary to do so, and not think twice about it. He treats people, most people, as if they're nothing. I'm not going to pretend to you that I don't have difficulty with that, with him and who and what he is, but , to some extent, I surely am fond of him. I don't understand him mind, but I don't dislike him on account of it."  
_

What a liar you are., He thought, fingering the glass sitting on the table before him.

" _I thought it was a Preacher's job to help people like that."  
_

"_When they want help." _

Look what he'd done. , he thought, My God look what he'd done to him. To them. Look at what he'd driven them to.

Buck, it had to have been Buck, had acted in violence against him, J.D. had turned him away, and Vin had stood by and done nothing to prevent or stop either occurrence.

Because Ezra had left them, had walked away from their outstretched hands and everything they'd been willing to give him.

Because those three at least felt he shouldn't have and wouldn't have if he, and Nathan with him, had not driven him to it.

But Chris...Chris had left for his own reasons and there's nothing to say about that. He'd _expected _Ezra to leave, from the beginning he'd expected that of him, but to have Chris so suddenly ride away...that blindsided him like the broadside of a barn. There was no way he, any of them, could have foreseen it or, apparently, prevented it.

He won't take the blame for Chris leaving, won't let the others make him, but Ezra...Ezra would have stayed if ...if he, Josiah Sanchez, had been man enough to live up to his own ideals.

Man enough to admit that what so disturbed him about the young Southern Gentleman had nothing to do with the man and everything to do with those parts of himself he reflected back to him like the finest silver mirror. He was a degenerate. A Gambler. A Confidence man who'd gone so far as to impersonate a man of the cloth and spoke of it as if it were no more than a trifle.

He was a walking, talking, embodiment of Sin.

All of which he accepted and seemed to embrace. There was no shame in the heart of Ezra P. Standish for his transgressions, for his crimes against his fellow man. Which was a fact he never bothered to point out and didn't need to. It was obvious, shamefully so.

He knew who and what he was and could live with it.

"_He likes being the way he is, I might even go so far as to say he delights in it."_

Josiah didn't want to hate him for that.

To hate him for having the strength to face his darker tendencies and stand firm. The strength to look his sins in the eye, as it were, and not flinch or turn away, but to arch his brow with every ounce of Southern condescension he could muster as if to say,"So what, you don't define me."

A test.

That's what he was or had been.

A test of Josiah's character and will.

Of course he'd failed.

He'd always known he would.

UUU

Nate flinched as he entered the doctor's office, his sense of smell immediately offended by the stink of unwashed things.

He scanned the small area, taking in the general disarray, with an uncomfortable mingling of contempt and concern. He was all too aware of the fact that the man who kept this office, the man who'd left dirty, bloodied rags and tools sitting out along the counter, left uncapped, unlabeled medicines scattered across the room and empty whiskey bottles all over the damn place, was the same man who'd treated Chris and Ezra.

Good Christ.

"Can I help you?"

Nate looked away from the clutter to the man standing in the doorway he thought would lead either to a dry storage or a small personal area if the man actually lived at his clinic. He was older, mid to late fifties maybe, his clothes slightly wrinkled and sweat stained, his eyes bloodshot. That much he'd expected from the way he kept his office, but it caught him off guard to realize that the overall impression Dr. Daniel Waterston gave him wasn't one of incompetence but of being over-used and worn out. The impression of being exhausted beyond his ability to cope or recover.

It made him think of the war, and the doctors who'd walked through the aid-stations like shadowed ghosts.

"Doctor Waterston?"

The man eyed him, " Yes, how can I help you?"

"Deputy Dean," The only damn person at the Jail who was willing to say more than two words at one time to him," tol' me you're the one who saw to his prisoners?"

The man's eyebrows shot up in surprise, but Nate hadn't spent two and a half years learning how to read Ezra for nothing and even if he had the man standing across the room was an even worse actor than J.D. , "Standish and Larabee?"

"Yessir."

Waterston sighed and gestured to the chairs set off to the side of the room.," Have a seat Mister..."

"Jackson, Sir. Nathan Jackson.," He surprised himself by offering his hand.

The Doctor gestured vaguely to the room at large with one hand and while he clasped Nathan's with the other," Forgive the mess. I'm a drunk and a lay-about, which I'm sure you already knew, neither of which leads a man to tidiness."

Nonplused Nate blinked at him, absently noting the fact that his hands were damp, but not sweaty and thinking that he was pretty functional for a self-confessed drunk. If he was a little yellow around the edges that was just the jaundice comin' on, and to be expected in a long time heavy drinker.," It's not important."

Waterston gave him a narrow considering look before turning away and moving toward his cluttered desk,"Have a seat Mr. Jackson and we'll see if I can't give you whatever it is you need from me. Not," and he smiled as he lowered himself into his chair," that the kindness isn't appreciated, but you're a lousy liar."

Nate blinked at him, taken aback by the blunt good nature of the comment.,"I..."

"No.," Waterston held up a hand to silence him,"I know what I am and how I must appear to you. Let's leave it at that.," Then he kicked back his chair a bit, his eyes sliding not quite carelessly enough over the top drawer of his desk, and asked," So, what is it you wanna know 'bout Chris and Ezra?"

The drawer is probably where he keeps his liquor, he thought to himself, then shook his head to dislodge the thought. Waterston's drinking problem was _Waterstons's_ problem and had nothing to do with why he was here.," I need to know about their injuries."

"Well, Chris has a hell of a sore throat and a fairly decent crack in his skull. I dosed him a little heavy on the laudanum, though not enough to have you half panicked like that, at the Sheriff's request. Ezra's shoulder's dislocated..."

He paused because Nate was snickering with something like fond relife. Ezra _always_ had a dislocated shoulder.

"...and a concussion.," The Doctor finished, giving him another one of those odd and measuring looks.,"Bradley and I attempted to set the shoulder while he was out, but he woke up and seemed a bit resentful of our efforts, so we let off. I offered him something for the pain, which he refused. I considered forcing it down him, Bradley would've thanked me for it, but I didn't."

"A good thing.," Nathan breathed, thinking that if he were just a little bit more like Buck or Chris or, and here his mental voice turned rueful, J.D. he'd reach across the desk, take a hold of the man and shake him like a rag doll. First to intentionally overdose Chris and then, if he'd actually gone through with it, forcing a drought of Laudanum on Ezra...," It would have killed him if you had. He's allergic to opiates."

Waterston shrugged, barely kept his eyes from the drawer," He didn't say."

"He never does."

"Now that's a damn stupid thing."

He was glaring at the man before he realized it, and once he did he only glared harder.," It's his business."

"The boy'll get himself killed."

"It's _his_ business," he snapped, annoyed because this man who knew nothing at all about Ezra thought it perfectly alright for him to sit in judgment of him. Ezra, as he'd always known, had his reasons for not telling people certain things and until he decided it should be otherwise Nate didn't see why anybody else should say anything about it.

"Like you said then, it's a good thing I didn't force it."

UUU

_Flashback_

_Chris would've been willing to bet Ezra really was asleep when they brought the first of the Friday night drunks in, but he knew that by the time the key was turning in the lock he was wide wake._

_There wasn't a lot he'd been willing to count on from the Gambler but among them had been the fact that it wouldn't take a curious mosquito more than thirty seconds flat to wake him up. Ezra never, but never dropped his guard and that, coupled with the man's impressively determined sense of self-preservation, had been the only reason he'd ever dared to put him on watch by himself. _

_Which was what he'd always asked for._

_Outside the cell the Deputy sent a furtive look toward the supposedly sleeping form on the bench ( and Chris made no attempt to curtail the cold amusement which coursed through his thoughts whenever he stopped to consider how uncomfortable a place that bench would be to try and sleep.) and an even quicker darting glance to the smugly comfortable, and clearly awake, Gunslinger._

_Catching his eye, Chris smiled._

_"Kevin," the Sheriff came up behind him," why don't you head over to Maisey's and get us some dinner?"_

_Chris smirked as he watched him go because Deputy Kevin Dean, who barely looked old enough to shave, was afraid of them. And never mind the fact that they were in a locked cell and completely unarmed._

_"He's young.," The sheriff remarked, drawing his attention," Still, he's better at his job than most men I've met.," Then his eyes, tired and a little dull, shifted to Ezra's apparently prone form," Well Mister Standish, you still wantin' your separate cell?"_

_Chris reacted without wanting to, tensing and turning his attention to Ezra, waiting to see if he'd answer the challenge. Though he didn't actually turn to him, not physically, Bradley was observant enough to catch the shift in his focus, to notice the his attention was no longer fixed on him. Too late Chris realized that he'd as good as admitted the Gambler wasn't sleeping and that he knew as much._

_Unconsciously he began to grind his teeth._

_On the bunk Ezra opened his eyes, which were clear and bright and clearly not the eyes of a man just awakened, and smiled._

_It was as cocky and hostile an expression as Chris'd ever seen on the man, no less so for the fact that Chris thought it wasn't meant to be, brimming with self-assurance and contempt._

_"I assure you sir, I'll have it when I'm ready for it."_

And wasn't it funny, Chris thought to himself as he fumbled his way through the drug shrouded depths of memories and dreams, how things like that seemed to work out for the man?

_Bradley stood there for several seconds longer, watching them, just watching them, before heading back to the front of the jail._

_"I wouldn't," Chris muttered, knowing too well what that look in Ezra's eyes meant. _

_Turning to him the younger man gave him a cold, forbidding look, smirking with just enough contempt to make him want to reach over and knock his teeth into the back of his throat, but not enough to actually make him do it, and asked,"What, pray tell, might you be babbling about now?"_

_Grinding his teeth even harder Chris shifted back against the wall, making himself so obviously comfortable that Ezra very nearly glared at him before regaining his control," Fuck you Standish."_

_"Oh no sir," and of course his voice held just enough distraction, just enough implied dismissal to feed the hungry, savage anger lurking between them,"I've not been in here anywhere near long enough to venture to such an extreme. And even were it otherwise, yon drunks, " he nodded toward the conveniently unconscious forms in the opposite cell," would receive my attentions long before yourself."_

_Chris eyed him, caught somewhere between surprise, humor, and abhorrence, so completely caught off guard that he very nearly stuttered,"Did you just imply...what I think you just implied?"_

_"Did I?"_

_"Well when your boyfriends wake up, you be sure to introduce us then."_

Ezra thought he was a coward.

It was his first thought as he came awake, and as he lie there, trying not to swallow or breathe, Chris let himself think about it as he hadn't when Ez'd made the comment.

Ezra thought he was a coward.

Ezra who'd sent himself into more dangerous and reckless situations than maybe all of them combined...who'd dressed as a woman, as a whore, because they thought he'd make enough of a distraction for the rest of them to get to Mary...taken a bullet for Mary when he could have just walked away...tripped the bomb that had ultimately lead to his leaving Four Corners, because he refused to take the chance that some innocent might wonder by and end up blown all to bits...Ezra who'd come back to that village when he was far enough away to be safe and walked into a nest of ex-confederate soldiers, alone, not because he actually believed he could save them but because he didn't want to run away ...

He'd come back when he didn't have to.

Again, and again he'd come back, throwing himself into the heart of any conflict that came their way. Despite the snide comments made by his mother. And the townsfolk. And his friends.

And he thought himself a coward.

My God, he thought, what had they done to him?

UUU

Fair play with others is primarily the practice of not blaming them for anything that is wrong with us.

We tend to rub our guilty conscience against others the way we wipe dirty fingers on a rag.

This is as evil a misuse of others as the practice of exploitation.

-Eric Hoffer


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: Own them? Me? Wouldn't that be sweet?

Author's Note: Yeah. Long time no see. I moved. Things happened as things are wont to do. Life got complicated, demanding, and in the way. I got as much of a handle on it as anyone ever does. Sorry for the un-godly delay.

CHAPTER SEVEN

The jail was shadowed and quiet around him as Ezra allowed his eyes to flutter open. He hadn't meant to sleep; hadn't meant to dream as he is well aware of having done.

To say he is surprised to find J.D. gone, and the Jail apparently empty, save for himself and Chris's inescapable presence, is an understatement he cannot bring himself to make, even in the clamorous confines of his own thoughts.

It is nothing like J.D., or any of the others come to that, to leave him to his own unsupervised devices under such circumstances as he is now burdened by.

It that, at least, they know him all too well.

And somehow he cannot quite fathom his last encounter with them having, in any way, lessened that peculiar instinct of theirs to forever restrict his actions as much as he is willing to allow himself to _be_ restricted. They are not, after all, fools.

Yet the chair young Mister Dunne had previously commandeered and so insistently occupied was now empty and beyond the cells he could hear nothing more interesting than the occasional thud of the random boot heel on the boardwalk.

They'd left him, left Chris, alone.

He considered that and all it could imply as he listened to the Gunslinger breathing in the cell adjacent to his own. It was by no means a comfortable sound; there was a hitch and a pause on the inhale, followed by a deep rattling which could not but hurt at every exhale.

_I did that_, he thought, recalling how it felt to hold the mans throat within the same soft, finely bones hands he and the others had mocked so very often and freely. Remembering how it felt to clutch and choke and _know_ that the choice of life or death belonged to his discretion alone.

Then, because it was inevitable and because he'd rather deal with this thing now, when the others, wherever they may be, were well away, he began.," You would probably appreciate, if not expect, an apology for my rather appalling behavior, yet I find I lack the ability to render such a thing. Though, obviously, I might lament such an utter loss of self-control and good manners it would seem that I am not so sorry for my actions after all. Therefore I see no need to proffer that which would only further serve to prove me false in thought and deed. Perhaps I am only too fatigued at the present moment and if you were to wait but a short time it might prove otherwise. I will, of course, leave such decisions to your discriminating self."

It occurred to him, in passing thought, that that was they most he'd said to Chris at one time since leaving Four Corners.

And it was the rhythm of the mans breathing which gave him away. Every human being to ever walk the earth had their tell and it hadn't taken Ezra more than a single night on the trail with the man to realize he hesitated before every waking breath. When he slumbered his breaths were regular, deep and even . When he was awake it almost seemed as if he were actually _thinking_ about each breathe he took; as if he were considering whether or not he wished to take it at all.

Knowing Chris as he had come to that was very probably the case.

On the heel of that thought followed a dark surge of hostility, leaping out from beneath the weariness which he thought might choke him soon . As long as he had known the man Chris had carried the weight of his life like some ill managed burden, more so than any other he'd met in all his years of travel. Understandable, when one considered the tragedy of his earlier life.

And something very close to unforgivable when you bore witness to the enviable bounty of what eventually came after.

Yes, his losses had been grievous, soul wrenchingly so; no one doubted or denied that fact. No one envied him his losses. Yet in that loss he had been lead to something just as dear, just as soul-wrenchingly precious. And had, at every turn, rejected it.

Rejected that which Ezra had once desired so fiercely and knew now he would've died to obtain.

Had come perilously close to dying in pursuit of.

The words he spat in the man's face had been hard, calculated, and very nearly cruel. But not, he realized in the heartbeats before Chris's reply, untrue. He found he did know why Chris had fled Four Corners, though he'd not realized it until the words had passed beyond his lips and ability to withdraw, if he had ever wished to do so. It had become obvious in that last moment between sanity and retaliation and he was nearly certain he could hate the man for it.

Hate him and not regret it or pine for that which could never be his own.

"You must've been so damn tired Ezra. Of us. Of everything."

There was a sharp and sudden intake of breath, surprise and shock overwhelming him even as the pain in his dislocated shoulder thundered to life. _No_, he thought, _No. This is not how it goes, damn you. That is not what you're supposed to say._

"It was never enough, not any of it, and it was never going to be enough. No matter what you did. But you stayed. You stayed and let us judge you like we were Josiah's old testament Prophets."

_Leave it._ , he said, or tried to say as his throat contracted and his tongue thickened. _Leave it alone, old wounds never heal._

"We broke you."

And even when it seemed he'd reached the end of all things, when nothing could possibly remain to outrage his much abused sensibilities, there were yet things which were simply not to be borne.

Before he was completely aware of his own intentions he found himself standing at the bars, gritting his teeth against the surge of dizziness which washed over him, battering against his will and temper.,"I have never, Sir," he grated out through a jaw locked against the need to shout," through all the horrors of my life, been _broken_. You are not so accomplished as to manage in you disregard what my mother, in her total inability to parent, never has."

"But she did."

From where he's standing he can see the livid bruises covering Chris's jaw and throat and there is guilt, always there is guilt, but there is also a burning, primal satisfaction. Who, when all is said and done, in all the world has not wished, just once, to vent his fury so perfectly and completely? And who could ever have deserved it more so than this man who had called him friend, and still regarded him as something worth less than any stranger passing by in a day?

"I know why you left now. I never should've asked when it was so obvious."

_Never again, _he thought, remembering the promises he'd made to himself as J.D. sat outside without his cell cajoling and bribing. Offering him anything, everything, if he'd just speak to him. If he'd just open his eyes and acknowledge him.

If he'd just make it okay again.

_Never again._

"I told you," he hissed," it was no longer profitable for me to remain in your illustrious town. As there was no further purpose to my continued presence I departed. It is rather difficult to be any more obvious than that."

"No.," Chris stated in that damnably hoarse voice," You asked me if I thought you'd stay."

"And you answered as truthfully as you ever have Mister Larabee. That, at least, I have always been able to anticipate from you without any expectation of disappointment."

He let the words hang there, suspended by the weight of things left unsaid, tensed against the forthcoming retaliatory remarks.

Seconds passed.

Carefully, neither wholly satisfied nor relaxed, for it has never been in Christopher Larabee to retreat or concede even the most minuscule of points, he turned and made his way back to the cot.

He wished, Lord how he wished, that the move felt more like a triumph than a loss.

UUU

Outside Vin shifted slightly, watching the evening shadows play against the deepening twilight," Guess they're awake."

In the dim light spilling from the open door of the Jailhouse he saw Buck's silhouette nod," Yep."

"Reckon we ought't jest let'em be?"

"Yep."

He grunted, rolled his shoulder to release the tension, and sighed because he knew it was useless. There was nothin' in all the world t' make 'im go and wanna do a thing than knowing he couldn't or shouldn't do anything a'tall.

"Hate waitin'.," he muttered.

There was something almost like a amusement in Buck's murmured "Yep."

UUU

Because some things were ingrained J.D. found himself at the local eatery, a heaping plate sitting on the table in front of him. The food smelled good, looked good, and probably was good. But he didn't want it. Hadn't wanted it even as he'd ordered it.

He glared at it, hating the sight almost as much as the deep seeded needs which had lead him into ordering the damn thing, just because Buck had told him too.

Disgusted with himself, with every damn one of them, he shoved the plate away.

No wonder Ezra wouldn't even look at him.

The temper he hadn't know was his, or at least had convincingly forgotten after that long ago incident with the son of his mother's employers, flared to life at that thought and the accompanying image of Ezra so purposefully turning away from him.

Goddamn it he wanted a drink, and not of the milk sitting at his elbow.

"My food not good enough for you then?"

Startled his gaze shot to the woman standing next to his table, coffeepot in hand, and for horrible moment he thought he was staring at his mother.

Which was ridiculous. She looked nothing like his mother, who'd been dark and delicate where this woman was stout and fair-skinned, a mass of red curls pinned atop her head.

Cursing himself for a fool he took a steadying breath, less disturbed by his jolting mistake than by the fact that it had been months since he'd seen his mother in another's face., "It's good enough ma'am."

He watched one of her eyebrows rise at his tone, which was civil but cold, if not dismissive, and felt his gut tighten as the resemblance intensified. That simple, artful gesture which had grown so very familiar on Ezra, had been his mother's most effect way of letting him know he'd taken just one step too far and crossed the line.

"Well then, you gonna eat it or just stare at it all night?"

He wanted to snap at her, to loose his temper on her as he had on Nate and Josiah, on Buck.

But he'd been raised by a woman and raised to be respectful. And caught up in his certainty of this woman's likeness to her he couldn't quiet bring himself to do anything of the sort.

And, oh, how that grated.

"I'm not very hungry, ma'am."

"Then you probably shouldn't have ordered all that food."

_And you should probably be minding your own damn business._

He realized he was grinding his back teeth and stopped himself with a concentrated effort.

"Ma'am, I'm also not in much of a mood for company. So if you don't mind..."

"I do, actually. ," And so saying she deposited her coffee pot on the table and herself in the chair opposite him.," Whatever's wrong it's none of my business to be sure, but I know a thing or two about men like you and you've got to talk to someone.

And then she smiled.

He was gaping at her and knew it, but didn't know how to stop. This was not how someone, someone you didn't even know, was supposed to act when you told them to leave. Even if you didn't say it in so many words.

No one back home would have persisted as this woman was. It was understood in Four Corners that what lay between the Peacekeepers was not to be intruded upon. No matter how well intentioned or meaning someone happened to be.

And maybe that was why he heard himself asking," What do you mean, 'men like me' ?"

She gestured to the star pinned to his lapel, a look both knowing and contemptuous in her gaze, "Men who wear that."

"Ma'am..."

Reaching out she took his hand in her own," Please, let me help. Where's the harm in it?"

And just like that his anger, his annoyance, was gone, collapsing in on itself like a sinkhole.

No one, not in six months, had offered to help.

Just to help.

Casey had tried, in her way, with distractions and excuses. Mrs. Potter and Mrs. Travis, even Inez, had treated him with kindness and understanding on those rare occasions they'd seen him. But the others...there was just so much blame coloring the suddenly vast distances between them. None of them, not one, had had it in him to reach out to the other and offer what this stranger, who had nothing to gain, expected nothing in return, had offered without so much as a second thought. Or even a nodding acquaintance.

It would be easy, so easy, to accept. To sit here with this woman and just talk until there was nothing left to be said.

Ezra would never forgive him.

Neither would Chris if it came to that.

There was the harm in it.

He thought again of Ezra turning his back to him, thought of the way his gut had tightened and he'd thought he might throw up right there between Chris and Ezra's cells.

_They left_, he thought., _Fuck them both, they left._

"They don't get it.," He murmured, half unconsciously as his senses recalled waking up to the bitter taste of whatever it was Ezra used to spike their drinks that last night in Four Corners., "None of them."

And waking to that taste in his mouth, to fogged and befuddled thoughts, he'd mustered the energy to stumble and half-jog to the Tavern. To find Vin sitting at their table with Inez, who was fingering a small brown package. To force himself up the stairs and through Ezra's door to find the bed perfectly made, the room bare of the few personal objects Ezra had been willing to display.

"And they don't care.," He'd thrown himself down the stairs, running blindly for the stables. And with each pounding step he'd repeated to himself, again and again and again, that Ezra had promised he'd stay. He'd promised. Even knowing he'd find Chaucer's stall abandoned he'd held on to that thought. Held on like a drowning man holds on to an outstretched hand.," They never have and they never will."

He'd told Chris that Ezra would leave. That there was no reason they hadn't snatched from his grasp compelling him to stay. And what had Chris done?

Stared at him, in that quiet, unmoving way he had, and then nudged Job forward without a single fucking word.

Then he'd left, even before Ezra and with less thought for those he left behind.

"They just push each other away, like it doesn't matter. But it _does_. It's the only Goddamn thing that matters at all anymore."

UUU

I thought how unpleasant it is to be locked out,

and then I thought how it is worse, perhaps, to be locked in.

-Virginia Woolf


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: I own very little and make no profit thereof.

Author's Note: (Hangs head in shame) I didn't forget about this story, just kinda stopped writing for a while. But here it is. A little rough, but here at last.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Hours after her talk with the young Sheriff May Ella Macy, Miss _Maisey_ to almost everyone who knew her, sat alone in her small downstairs room staring blindly into the wavering flames of the fire she'd set in her hearth more for comfort than actual warmth.

The rocking chair she occupied moved gently forward, then back, then forward again as she used her toes and the ball of her feet to keep it in motion, that small, necessary gesture the only outward sign of the inner agitation which was keeping her awake so late into the night.

_They don't get it._, the boy had said, almost snarled, to her after she'd bullied him into talking when he'd tried so hard not to,_ And they don't care._

If those words hadn't quite managed to be anguished the look in his eyes, which had held a horrible mix of pain and anger, of guilt and blame, had made it clear enough that he was. Made it obvious, even to her, that the people he was talking about were breaking his heart.

_They just push each other away, like it doesn't matter._, And more than anger she'd seen the rage rear up in those soft brown eyes at that. Eyes, she'd been unable to help thinking, which should've been lit with laughter, should have been full of questions and kindness.

_But it DOES., _he'd insisted, sounding so young, so lost and desperate that she'd wanted to gather him up and sooth away his pains, wanted to assure him that it would all be okay, that she'd _make_ it okay. Somehow, she _would_ and never mind her original purpose in seeking him out.

_It's the only Goddamn thing that matters at all anymore._

At least she'd gotten him to eat. There was a wan look about him that told her he probably hadn't been doing enough of that lately and before he'd left her to head back over to the jail his plate had been all but licked clean.

That was something, anyway.

She'd been tempted to go with him, to meet these men who were so carefully destroying the ties that bound them all together, to round them up and point out what they were doing to each other. What they were doing to _J.D., _for no good reason that she could see, but there her better judgment had won out.

After all, it wasn't her place to interfere in the lives of these men she didn't know and who would probably be something less than grateful for any attempt she made to do so.

_At least_, she silently amended as the fire cracked and her toes flexed against the floor and the chair rocked back, _not anymore than I already have._

_And, damn it, it'd all been going so well before they killed that drifter_, she thought to herself on a sigh.

Five days ago she'd let her finest room to Mr. Standish for a full three days (Doubling her income for the month in one fell swoop.) with the understanding that he might stay a bit longer if things went favorably for him at the tables. She'd helped that along a bit herself by, with the utmost discretion, pointing out to the Southerner those men who were known to have a fondness for cards and a bit more cash to burn than others.

It was a fact he'd tipped her well, and often, for the information (A gesture she more than appreciated.),yet she'd begun to enjoy his presence in her establishment over the course of those first two days he'd been in town and knew she would've even without the money. He had a sharp, mocking sense of humor and a skill for observation that could leave one gaping in appreciation when he decided to show it, and she'd kept herself away from people for so long that she'd grown lonely without even realizing it until he'd used that to charm and coax her out of her shell.

It hadn't dawned on her, until her first thought after hearing that he'd been locked up for shooting and killing a man had been how to get him the hell out, that she'd begun to hope he'd stay.

Then she'd realized, with a kind of bemused shock, that they'd become friends, of a sort, she and her lodger, and never mind that it was all business because it was based on _respect_.

A rare and precious thing that respect, one almost never given to her by the rough edged men in her world.

Men who, despite their basic likeability and good-heartedness, never seemed quite sure of how to deal with a business woman who was neither married or widowed and had no intention of ever experiencing either state.

And wasn't a whore.

You couldn't forget that because if she _had_ been then they wouldn't have had any trouble dealing with her at all.

Somehow she couldn't quite escape the feeling that the men she met were surprised by her success, more than a few actually insulted by it, and all for the simple fact that she'd accomplished what she had without the help of a man.

And to her mind it was never anything but disgusting and insulting. As if every man in the world didn't start his life safe in his mother's womb, nestled under her heart.

She sighed, because Mr. Standish, _Ezra_ he'd said to call him, had never once made her feel as if she were anything other than the accomplished, intelligent woman she knew herself to be and it'd been nice to let him treat her as if she were the type of lady he'd so obviously been raised with. Nice to let his flattery and his high-bred manners sooth an ache she wasn't even aware of most days.

And the money hadn't hurt either, though accepting it had been little more than practical and frugal and she'd have done the same if he'd had two heads and spent all of his time talking to her chest.

It was a stance she thought the man would not only understand but expect.

Which must've been the case after all, otherwise he never would've sought her out later and she wouldn't be in the middle of this stupidly complicated mess now.

She chuckled at the memory of how the current arrangement had come about, a low throaty sound of true amusement that filled the quiet, night dark space of her room.

She'd been cleaning up in the kitchen late enough on Thursday night to be confident she wouldn't be disturbed, wondering about Mr. Standish and what could've possibly broken through the amour of his charm and careful disdain with enough force that he'd actually shot a man, when she'd turned to find him standing at her back and nearly fainted dead away.

She'd slapped him instead, not too hard though and he'd accepted it with grace enough as she snapped at him not to sneak up on a body like that.

He'd apologized, enthusiastically, and it had occurred to her that his scarring the hell out of her was really not the most relevant fact of the current situation.

"So," she'd stated after he'd run down, planting her hands on her hips, "it's to be an escape then is it?"

Gold tooth glinting in the light from her oil lamps he'd shaken his head in the negative as if he hadn't already done just that and she'd felt her fondness for him well up from wherever it'd been hiding. _Good God_, she'd thought, _how can you not like this man?_

"I must declare that I find myself most grievously injured, Madam, that you would think me capable of so cowardly and heinous an act as to flee my incarceration. However prudent such an action might, in all truth, prove to be in light of certain unforeseen and unfortunate circumstances, I assure you the thought to do so was merely a fleeting abnormality . "

"So you're _not _escaping?," she'd demanded in the face of his assurances to the contrary and the persistence of the evidence at hand.

"Burdensome as it most often proves to be, the Law is the very basis of the civilized world; without which it would prove impossible to maintain the order which allows us to live in relative harmony, casting us once more into the fathomless depths of our uncivilized and barbaric past."

"That's all very well and good, but," she'd pointed out, feeling ridiculous because, really it was obvious, "you _have_. Escaped, I mean."

He'd waived away her words with a dismissive gesture she wouldn't have tolerated from another man as his smile widened and his eyes sparkled with amusement, making her feel as if this was a joke they were sharing between the two of them., " A brief and necessary furlong. Unsanctioned, I must admit, as I perceived no particular nor pressing reason to have bothered either the Sheriff or his Deputy with such a minor thing as I will shortly be returning to my current accommodations."

Snorting at that, well able to imagine Bradley's opinion and reaction to " such a minor thing" as one of his prisoners letting himself out and wondering around town to his hearts content, she'd folded her arms under her breasts and did her very best to look stern and disapproving. The fact that she wasn't going to pull it off didn't really matter, it was the effort that counted here.," And it was necessary to break out of jail and come here in the middle of the night, scaring the hell out me, by the way, for what reason?"

He'd made an effort to appear sincere before answering and even knowing he was only showing her what he felt was necessary to get his way she had to admit it was a successful effort. "Do to the afore mentioned unanticipated circumstances I have come to find myself in a situation which is most distressing and have, in an attempt to alleviate that distress, and in light of our previous understanding, come to propose an arrangement which I believe you will find both profitable and eminently acceptable."

"An arrangement that has noting to do with helping you escape before the Judge arrives?"

He'd let his smile go a little lopsided at that and she'd let her frown deepen because she'd worked hard to get where she was and she really had to make the point clear that she couldn't risk her _entire_ life for him, no matter how boyish and charming he was, and they'd stared at each other for several heartbeats before he spoke again with a seriousness she couldn't bring herself to question.

"I'll stay and face Judge Travis's wrath, though you can be assured that such an action is not only in defiance of my better judgment but in direct contrast to my very nature, because I can see no more acceptable a course of action. And in defense against your clear, though perhaps not unwarranted disbelief, I feel it incumbent upon me to point out that if I wanted to leave I would already be gone and neither you nor anyone else in this town would have been aware of it until well into the morning."

" Is it illegal, what you want me to do?"

He'd grimaced and sighed before responding and she'd almost felt guilty before she reminded herself that it was a perfectly legitimate question.

" In all probability you will find it distasteful," his eyes caught and held her own, reinforcing the truth of his words by the simple strength of that gaze," you will almost certainly find it deceitful, yet what I require is well within the bounds of legality."

His smile returned as he finished, though he didn't break eye contact, and she let the silence stretch, taking the time to consider his words. _Really _consider them because she was only going to ask the next question if she was prepared to accept what he was offering her. It wouldn't be fair to demand more information without the promise of acceptance.

_Distastefu_l and _deceitful _he'd said, a combination she _knew_ covered more than a little bit of morally questionable ground. She'd dealt with both over the course of her life, often in tandem, and expected to again, but she wasn't a woman who wandered into unknown territory with ease. The best thing, perhaps the smartest thing, would be to turn him away now before distasteful became _unacceptable_ and deceitful moved into out and out _fraud_.

_That's it_, she'd though in her firmest voice, _just tell him no._

Yet she'd stood there, with every intention of doing just that, and something about him had tugged at her, nagged even, at the sentimentality she tried so hard to deny herself with the bull-headed determination of one who's been burned more than once and badly enough not to let it happen again.

It was there, in those bright green eyes of his, so often dancing with amusement and that sly, secretive humor of his, which had grown soft, and weary and somehow sad in the course of their conversation.

And she can remember now, sitting alone in her room, thinking with a biting ferocity, _Damn it all. _Before uncrossing her arms and relaxing into her decision., "Your word that no one will be hurt if I do this thing, that not a single, not one Mr. Ezra P. Standish, law will be broken in the doing of it."

The fact that she'd startled him hadn't surprised her nearly as much as the fact that, if only for a heartbeat, she could actually _see_ that she had on that so expressive, usually so guarded , face of his.

She'd blushed at the naked gratitude that followed in its wake before he regained control of his expression, hating that she understood it.

"My word, Madam," there'd been something hesitant beneath the casual tone of his voice that made her want to take his hand in hers, made her want to sooth the ache she could see behind his careful mask, "has never been regarded as all that binding or valuable."

"Nevertheless."

He swallowed, once, his lips tightening into a thin white line, then nodded.," Very well then. I assure you that this endeavor will require no untoward action or behavior should you agree to its undertaking."

And the fact that he'd kept his word on that wasn't going to make anything easier now, no matter that he'd warned her the whole thing would probably be unpleasant.

_Yes_, she thought, _but he never told me how_ hard _it would be_.

UUU

Shortly before dawn Chris and Ezra lay awake in their cells each contemplating the likelihood of the coming days unpleasantness.

Ignoring the throbbing of his head Chris thought again of the words Ezra'd screamed at him shortly before flying across the cell at him, wondering how he could be so completely unsurprised by the fact that the man had figured out something he himself had realized damn near after the fact and knew none of those he'd left behind had understood.

But, of course, it was Ezra and he supposes if anyone would understand a man's need to turn his back on those things which shamed you to your very soul it would be the Southerner.

And now, thanks to the fact that old habits rarely die a clean death, those same people he'd ridden away from, the people who'd first driven Ezra ahead and then away, were here and there wasn't a damn thing, not one Goddamn thing, either of them could do to get away.

Short of a jailbreak, anyway.

Which wasn't completely out of the question really, but Chris would rather keep it as a last resort. The kind of price the Judge would put on his head, on _their _heads, might end up being worth the trouble but he wasn't quite there yet.

He might be, given a few more days of being trapped in this damn cell, but not yet.

_And Ezra thinks he's a coward,_ he thought, his mind circling back to that one fact as it had been all night long., _Because of _them_, because of _me_, he thinks he's a coward._

Doing something like that to a man wasn't something you could just apologize for and take back.

Wasn't something you could expect to be forgotten and forgiven.

_You must've been so damn tired Ezra.,_ he'd said to the man, trying to imagine wanting to stay with a group of people so badly that you'd let them treat you the way they'd treated him. Trying to tell him that he understood now, that he realized it was as much _his_ fault as any of the others.

Maybe _more_ than any of the others.

He'd known, even as he opened his mouth, that Ezra wouldn't want to hear it, would probably have tried to choke him out again if he'd been within reach to try and shut him up, but it needed to said.

Needed to be said, out loud, that he, Chris, knew it wasn't the man's fault, not any of it. Knew that they'd chipped away at him, at his choices, until there was nothing left but for him to leave.

It wasn't his fault and this time, for the first time, Chris didn't blame him.

_You answered as truthfully was you ever have Mr. Larabee. That, at least, I have always been able to anticipate from you without any expectation of disappointment._

_That's all we ever did,_ he thought as he listened to the man shift uncomfortably in his cot._ Disappoint him and let him down._

And then, because it occurred to him that _Nate _was going to find himself sorely disappointed in just a few short hours, he smiled into the dark.

You could always trust Ezra to find a way to frustrate the man, no matter the lengths he had to go to.

And, really, because Buck'd told him everything Nate had said that day in the stall, he couldn't help looking forward to helping him further that particular cause.

Always assuming the others let the man anywhere near them after yesterday, that was.

"I find myself wondering," Unconsciously his smile widened at the sound of Ezra's voice as he proved, once again, that their thoughts still followed the same path more often than they didn't.," Mister Larabee, as to the likelihood of Mister Jackson being allowed access to our persons at all in the face of Mister Dunne's so recent display of displeasure. That fact that he will make the effort I take for granted, yet Mister Dunne has proven himself to be surprisingly unpredictable and that being the case I cannot help but speculate on the unnecessary nature of our most recent actions."

_Our most recent actions,_ he thought as he remembered waking up to find Ezra standing over him ( the eye he'd jabbed his elbow into swollen nearly shut) and thinking _Well shit he's got me now._ And how the man had used the hand signals they'd developed while still in Four Corners to express the fact that he wanted him to set his shoulder before the others got at him.

Understanding the sentiment (if you gave those boys room enough to put their foot in the door they'd bust the damn thing off it's hinges) he'd risen with the same careful silence Ezra'd been using, all too aware that wherever they were the others wouldn't be that far away.

It hadn't been quick, setting his shoulder, and it hadn't been easy, but through it all Ezra'd only clenched his jaw and endured.

"They'll let him in.," he answered back as the smell of the coffee they'd put on the fire, just like they had every morning since being brought in, began to drift through the jailhouse.

The Southerner sighed, " I suppose eventually they will. I had so looked forward to the possible enjoyment of a day without Mister Jackson supercilious lectures."

Hearing the grim satisfaction in his own voice Chris did nothing to hide it," I think Nathan's days of lecturing you are about to end."

He didn't need Ezra's quite, "We shall see Mister Larabee.," to know that he wouldn't believe the promise in those words, but that was okay.

He'd learn the truth of them soon enough.

UUU

Six months ago if you'd have asked him Nathan would have told you the idea of him squaring off with J.D over whether or not he would be allowed to treat someone's wounds was as ridiculous as it was for-fetched.

Yet that was exactly what he found himself doing first thing Monday morning.

And he _still _couldn't quite believe it was actually happening.

Standing outside the jailhouse, barring him from so much as stepping up off the street, J.D. glared at him, his jaw set, hands resting on the butts of his guns as he repeated himself for the third time.

"I told you last night to stay the hell away and I meant it."

Trying to keep his frustration from showing through his words Nate spoke with a care that would almost be amusing had the situation been different and he hadn't seen Waterston's office, hadn't heard the man say he'd _intentionally_ overdosed Chris and then left Ezra's shoulder unset.,"They're hurt J.D. and…"

"Dean said the Doctor'd been at 'em jest 'fore we got here.," Vin interrupted from where he was still sitting, the only change from the night before being the cup of coffee he held in his had.

"The Doctor's a damn drunk!," he snapped back and then told himself to calm down as Vin went back to blowing on his coffee as if it was no never mind to him at all if Nate wanted to stand in the street and yell at him.

He tried again.

"They're hurt and they need to be seen by someone who knows what they're doing. Ezra's shoulder…"

"Well hell, I can set his shoulder if that's what you're so worried about.," From Buck, who never even looked away from the women walking by on the other side of the street.

Knowing he was giving in he rounded on the man, " You think it's all that damn easy, do you?"

The women passed beyond his direct line of sight and when he shifted his gaze to him Nate blinked at the confidence and amusement he saw there.," We've done it often enough. Seems like the thing goes out every other week."

"Gotta be sometin' we ken' do 'bout that.," Vin muttered.

"Maybe a nail. Right through the bone."

"Well, it's a thought Bucklin."

Nate felt his temper snap then and didn't care as he threw his arms up in a gesture of surrender, waving his medical bag over his head like a flag. ,"Fine! Be mad at me for whatever damn fool reason you have and let them lay in there and _suffer _for it. Who cares anyway? It's not _my_ problem that the Doctor damn near _killed_ Ezra. Clearly…."

"You can see them."

Four pairs of eyes shifted to the door of the jail where Deputy Dean had been standing for God knew how long and Nate thought _Finally a man with some sense._

" Morning Deputy.," Vin drawled.

Buck gestured with the cup in his hand., "Damn fine cup of coffee son."

And then J.D. shifted his stance so that he was facing Dean, his shoulders thrown back, his chin jutting out, almost inviting the man to hit him.," No, he can't _Deputy_. "

More than a little thrown off his stride by the Deputy's willingness to step into one of their argument (After all almost no one back home would've been willing to do the same. Well, some of the women would've.) he watched J.D. with no small amount of disbelief. It was true enough that the boy'd been willing to push and argue his point right from the start, and he could be fierce as a banty rooster at times, but he'd also always had an ingrained sense of respect.

The idea that he'd stand there and tell a man how he was going to run his own jail in his own town was nearly as ridiculous as the idea of having to fight with him about treating Chris and Ezra.

_But he's gonna do it._, he thought, _and he's probably gonna win._

Then he'd turn and go back to telling him how he wasn't going to be allowed to see the men inside, more than likely adding several comments about his treatment of the people around him while he was at it, and Nate wouldn't be surprised if J.D. laid the whole sorry mess at his feet as if _he'd_ been the one to leave them all behind before he was done.

He hadn't, yet, in the course of the last six months, but it was clear that's where the boy was heading and Nate had about decided he'd had enough of it.

He doesn't know why Chris left, doubts very much that any of them do, but he'd _tried _to stop Ezra. Had waited all damn night after the man had drugged the others for him to make his move and it hadn't done any good.

_What, exactly, do you expect me to do?, _the man had asked, throwing his own words back at him after he'd asked him to stay. And then he'd tipped his hat and rode away. And Nate had watched him go knowing it was wrong, knowing there was nothing he could do to make him stay.

He'd told Buck, that day in the stable, that Ezra would go, that he'd always wanted to go; it wasn't until he'd actually had to watch him ride away that he realized he'd never really thought he would. Realized that without his quite noticing Ezra'd become as much a part of his life as the rest of them and he'd started to count on him being there.

And for six months he'd had to live with the fact that he'd been wrong, which was bad enough, not to mention the casual blame of all those who looked at him and could think of nothing beyond the fact that Ezra was gone and more than a little of the blame belonged on his shoulders.

Now here they were, miles, no _days_, away from home, not one of them willing to go back without the two who'd left, and J.D. wasn't even going to let him talk to them.

It figured, it really did.

Then, looking harassed and put-upon, Dean broke into his thoughts ,"My jail, _Sheriff _Dunne. _My_ prisoners. And if any one of you wants to be able to see them at all you damn well better keep that in mind."

_Ha_, Nate couldn't keep himself from thinking,_ Good for you._

J.D. took a deep breath, nodded once to the Deputy in acknowledgement, then turned back to him and Nate wanted to flinch away from the way his face hardened in the few seconds it took for him to complete the action.

That or hit him in that damn stubborn chin of his until he realized that they were all here for the same reason.

"If the Deputy wants to let you in then I guess there's nothing I can do, " And oh how smoothly that lie fell from the kids lips as they all let it. It was only plain truth that if J.D. decided he wasn't going in then, with Vin and Buck backing him, he wouldn't be going in. It really was that simple.," But, you'll treat Ezra right or I'll throw you out on your ear just like I did last night. Got that?"

"You will not.," Dean snapped before he could reply.,"Damn it, what the hell is wrong with you people?"

Buck laughed outright, a big booming sound that had several people up and down the block turning in their direction and startled Nate so badly he actually jumped.

Not wanting to, as mad and frustrated as he'd ever been, Nate found himself chuckling right along with him as J.D. glowered at him and Vin smirked into his coffee and Deputy Dean stood there looking even more harassed.

And he thought, as he started up into the jail, ignoring the way J.D. refused to move aside for him, that the Deputy might actually have gotten an answer if he'd asked what _wasn't_ wrong with them.

It was a shorter list, after all.

UUU

"Jesus wept.,"Ezra muttered from across the way and hearing that Chris opened his eyes in time to see Nathan stop outside the opposite cell, J.D. close on his heels, Vin and Buck, no doubt, lingering somewhere out front. Wishing they'd all just go the hell away so he didn't have to deal with them while the room tried to spin and his stomach rolled, he swung his feet to the floor, paused to consider the complete lack of a statement to be made by remaining on the cot, then rose and moved to stand in front of the bars.

The Healer spared him a quick once over, eyes lingering on what he was sure were some impressive bruises on his neck, then again where Ezra'd clipped him on the jaw, before fixing his full attention back on the younger man who didn't bother to look up from the game of solitaire he was playing.

The fact that he was clearly going to tend Ezra first came as something of a shock. Barring a life-threatening injury the Gambler'd never been Nate's priority and Chris didn't trust this sudden change in the working order of things, couldn't trust it with all that was going on. Still, he waited, silent and unmoving, his every muscle tensed against all the things he expected to be happening in a very short amount of time.

_Get on with it already._, he thought as his head throbbed in time with the beat of his heart.

"Ez, we're gonna set that shoulder now and I wanna take a look at your head, make sure you don't have a concussion. ," He set his bag down as he spoke, bent to open it and rummage through it's contents missing the annoyed look Dean gave him as he moved around J.D. and went to unlock the cell door.,"Shouldn't take long. And I've got some willow bark here for you to…"

"My shoulder, "Ezra's voice interrupted and Chris didn't miss the way Nate blanched at the sight of his black eye when he turned toward the Healer, or the way it seemed like J.D.'s entire body seemed to sigh at the sound of his voice, "has been adequately tended to. Your services will not be required Sir."

There was nothing surprising in the fact that Nate and J.D. seemed unsurprised by the words, after all Ezra always denied needing help, any help at all, though it was interesting to see the way they'd both leaned forward when he spoke, as if straining to get closer to the sound of his voice. Interesting to see their faces, tight with worry and stress and something Chris couldn't name, relax and smooth over.

"Don't start that.," Nate ordered, the tone of his voice making it plain that he felt he'd fought over Ezra more than enough for one morning and wasn't about to put up with anymore arguments.," Waterston already said you wouldn't let him set the thing yesterday. Usually I'd call you a fool, but this time I can see your point. Still you're not gonna gain anything by fightin' with me about it, so just take the damn willow bark and let me get on with my business."

"You were told to keep a civil tongue.," J.D. warned his own tone of voice harsh enough that Chris's eyebrows would've risen to his hairline if he didn't think that gesture alone would make the top of his head fall off.

He'd never heard that tone from the boy, hadn't imagined him capable of it, and not for the first time he wondered about the town and the people he'd left behind, wondered what could've possibly happened in the six months he's been gone to make that level of impending violence sound almost natural on him.

Rolling his eyes Nate's only response was a dry, "If I insult him J.D. I'm sure he's more than capable of letting' me know it."

Chris felt his lips begin to twitch before he could stop them, grateful that no one else noticed as Ezra spoke again," As I am sure you would not failed to have noticed Doctor Waterston is, to use a phrase which is perhaps kinder than you would prefer, rather familiar with the bottle. A consequence of which, as we, I am sure, are all aware, is the impairment of ones ability to rely upon ones recollection. I own that I find myself positively impressed that he even recalls having been in my presence at all. The fact that you are willing to trust the word of such a man against the ample evidence provided by your own perfectly accurate eyesight is a development I cannot but find disturbing."

"Ezra, I can see…"

"That my shoulder is exactly as it should be, yes, I know.," Ezra finished for him as Nate's eyes focused on the shoulder in question and his voice trailed off.

Remembering then the sickening pop of the thing as it slid back into the socket Chris watched Nate's eyes dart between them, narrowed in speculation and suspicion and he smiled. A slow, lazy expression that he knew would do nothing to ease those suspicions.

"Alright then, but I still wanna take a look at your head."

"The offer is appreciated Sir, and, though I do not wish to appear ungrateful, I find I must reiterate the fact that I do not require your services at this time."

Rising from where he was still crouched over his bag Nate gave a smile of his own,"That's too bad because you're not gonna win this one Ez. Hush J.D.," he added without looking at him,"They had to knock him over the head to get 'im offa Chris. Hard as it is I imagine that took quite a bit of force. Who's to say what they knocked loose without knowin it?"

J.D. stiffened at that and it was obvious he didn't want to let Nate have his way but he was going to all the same and Chris decided he'd let the other man stand alone long enough.

"He wants you to leave him alone and that's exactly what you're going to do.," he ordered, not forgetting that he'd given up the right to issue commands to these men but counting on those same hard dying habits that had landed him where he was.

Clearly taken aback by his words it took Nate several seconds to regroup before he sighed,"Chris…"

"Leave. Him. Alone."

Nate stared and he met the man look for look letting all the hostility, the frustration, all the anger he'd had building up for the last few days show in his eyes.

Three full days he'd been stuck in this damn place, trapped with his back, literally, against the wall, because there was some part of him that had never left Four Corners, never left the men he'd lead and called his friends and begun to think of as his family. And even now, when he wanted to curse and lash out because they'd found him again, that part of him was _glad_ they had. Was relived that they'd come when he'd done his best to make them not want to.

And he hated it. Hated that he'd lost so much of himself that his first thought on walking into that bar and seeing Ezra sitting there running the table had been _There you are, thank God._

So he glared and it was Nate who looked away first, but then Chris had known he would.

"What about you then?," he asked as his gaze slid to his throat again.

"I'm _fine_!," he snapped back, grateful to have someone other than Ezra to vent his feelings on, because _Ezra_ hadn't come after him to drag him back like some kind of wayward little boy.

Which seemed to be too much for Nathan who snapped,"Great! Wonderful! No one's ever hurt, everybody's _just fine_ ! And I'll just mind my own damn business and go waste my time somewhere else! Jesus Christ!"

Snatching his bag up he whirled to leave, snarled, "Shut _up_ J.D. !, " because he'd opened his mouth (probably to reminded the man that he was supposed to behave himself), then stalked past him and out the door.

It was Ezra who broke the silence, his voice not unkind but firm enough to leave no room for argument., "Deputy Dean, I would appreciate it if you would be so kind as to provide our morning repast without further delay. I find the rigors of the morning have left me feeling somewhat peckish.," Then, turning to J.D. for the first time, face carefully blank, "Good day to you, Mister Dunne."

Chris told himself not to react when J.D. flinched at the dismissal then turned and left, his shoulders slumped, his steps heavy and dragging.

"You people have problems.," Dean muttered, then followed after him to get their breakfast.

UUU

Hours later Kevin sat alone behind his desk, free even of Wilmington and Tanner's continual presence outside, for the first time since the "Peacekeepers" (He could see now why Tanner said there were people who'd disagree with him if he called them that. How the hell could you not?) arrival the day before.

He knew now that he should've just settled for life as a cowboy and never mind the fact that his daddy and grandfather had both been lawmen, to hell with it actually. He could be out riding herd, free of the damnably complicated influence of these men, free of the responsibility Bradley'd dumped on his lap by skipping out the way he had.

Damn it.

Damn _him._

Damn _them_, while he was at it, _all _of them.

Things we're starting to get out of hand, he knew it well enough, and there wasn't anything he could do about it. Hell, he'd be lucky to make it to tomorrow morning without having to lock one of the Four Corners men up just to keep control of his own jail.

And it wasn't even _his_ jail.

He was just a Deputy for Christ's sake. He didn't deserve this. Wasn't getting _paid_ enough to have to deal with this.

Though he still thought he'd been right to let the Negro, Jackson his name was, see Standish and Larabee, even if it'd been against the will of the others.

Including Standish and Larabee.

He sighed as a shadow fell over him and he looked up to see the oldest of the group, Josiah Sanchez, Jackson said his name was, looking somewhat the worse for wear standing in front of his desk.

_Damn, damn, damn._, he thought, then said,"Something I can do for you Mr. Sanchez?"

"If you've a moment to spare, son."

_Hurry the hell up Bradley. Wherever you are._

UUU

The little trouble in the world that is not do to love, is due to friendship.

- Edgar Watson Howe


	9. Chapter 9

CHAPTER NINE

Well after the lunchtime rush J.D. found himself back at Maisey's another plate of untouched food sitting in front of him as his mind kept replaying everything that'd happened at the jail that morning.

He'd meant what he'd said to Nate about not letting him back in and , damn it, he should have stuck by it. If he had then the man never would have had the chance to go at Ez like that again and Chris wouldn't have gotten mad and he wouldn't have to had to ignore those goddamn knowing looks from Buck and Vin as he'd stalked past them.

Wouldn't be sitting there now staring like a jackass at the food he'd ordered and paid for knowing he wasn't going to eat it because he didn't know what else to do with himself in this town that wasn't his.

Letting his eyes drift across the near empty room he thought about that, about the fact that the only faces he'd recognize here were ones he didn't want to see, something he thought he'd never say or feel about the others, the fact that no one in this place cared what happened to the seven strangers in their midst who'd done nothing but upset the daily order of their lives since the first of them had ridden in to town.

At some point over the course of time after Chris and Ezra'd left he'd begun to think he'd longed for this, for the simple disregard of strangers, as the disbelief, the sadness, the overwhelming concern and affection the people of Four Corners felt for the five of them had begun to suffocate and overwhelm him. He'd wanted to be alone with his pain, believing that maybe it wouldn't be so unbearable if he weren't constantly surrounded by reminders of how wrong everything was now.

And here he sat, isolated even from the few in this place who could understand, wanting nothing more than to go home because at least back there it didn't look so hopeless. Didn't hurt so much more than it ever had when he'd sat alone in his own jail, missing those who were gone.

Missing those who'd stayed.

Lost in thought he didn't notice when his eyes fell on Maisey where she was standing across the room, arms folded under her breasts as she watched him brood over his lunch, but feeling her disapproval his attention suddenly focused on her.

Seeing that she pursed her lips, let her eyes move from his face to the still untouched plate of food in front of him and scowled.

Reacting to that look, annoyed with himself as he'd ever been with anything in his life, he picked up the fork sitting beside his plate to push the food around, hoping the gesture would be enough to please the woman. He didn't want to talk to her today, didn't want to let her kindness, her understanding, her simple warmth wash over him like a cooling rain, soothing his heartache.

It was his own stupid fault the morning'd gone the way it had, if he wanted to wallow in that stupidity, in the blame he knew rested with him, then that was his choice.

He should've checked Ezra's shoulder himself, first thing, instead of fighting with Nate on the street like that, and all for nothing. Should have gone to the Doctor to find out everything that Chris and Ezra'd done to each other before they'd made it to Huxley. Should've remembered to bring their breakfast with him when he headed over. Should've…

Should've just used his brain and actually thought before acting for once in his life

No, instead he'd been so busy riding his temper that he'd just bulled on ahead and, however well that tactic might have served him in the past, doing that now wasn't going to accomplish a whole hell of a lot. Not here. Not now.

Not with the two men he'd ridden hell for leather to reach without any idea of what he was going to say or do to make them come home, but still confident that he'd get it right, _they'd _get it right, once they got where they were going.

_And just look where that got you_, he thought.

They should've stayed home, him and Nate and Josiah, like Buck'd wanted them to, because all they'd managed to do was make everything worse.

There was a part of him that knew, just knew, that if they'd just let Buck and Vin handle this then everything would be different. No one, not even Chris or Ezra at their most stubborn, could resist either of them for even half as long as they'd managed to hold off the rest of them, well, and here he couldn't hold back the smirk, mostly him anyway because he'd kicked Nate and Josiah out before they'd had any real contact with the men.

No, those two would've had them talking to them in the first hour, long before they'd even gotten used to the idea that they were there and sure as hell before they had the chance to build up any defenses.

_But we just had to come_, he thought bitterly. Buck had argued and yelled at them right up till the second he'd gotten on Beau and they'd ignored every word that came out of his mouth because it wasn't what they'd wanted to do.

He'd tried, he really had, to get through to Ez, all but begging him to talk to him, and that'd worked so damn well that the only time he'd even acknowledged him was to dismiss him.

Which is exactly what that had been. He knows the words and tone of voice well enough from his years back east that no matter how hard he's willing to try he'll never be able to convince himself they were anything else.

And the only time Chris had said anything at all was when he'd ordered Nate to leave the Gambler alone.

Nate, who shouldn't even been allowed to see the man, who couldn't seem to not push and bully him, even if he did have a point.

How bad had things got that Ezra would go so far as to set his shoulder by himself just to keep the man away from him?

Well, okay, so he probably would've done that anyway.

"You're almost smiling, so it can't be all that bad."

He looked up just as Maisey, having crossed the room when his attention drifted back to his problems, took the seat next to him, unable to keep the polite smile off his face even though he wanted to glare.

Ignoring his lack of welcome, exactly like she had the night before, she took the fork out his hand, using it to take a bite of the meat loaf he'd ordered because it made him think of Miss Nettie who knew he had a soft spot for it.

"How's that ma'am?," he asked with a heavy sigh, resigned to that fact that she was there now and not likely to leave until she'd gotten what she'd wanted out of him. Yesterday he'd thought she reminded him of his mother, and that was true enough, but now he's not sure exactly if that's the only person she makes him think of. Like right now, sitting next to him, eating off his plate, she reminds him so much of Casey that for a minute something in his chest aches and throbs and all he can think about is how badly he wants to go home.

"Nothing wrong with the food., " she declared, about as he'd expected her to, then she leveled the fork at him like it was a gun..," If you come in here you're going to eat, Mr. J.D. Dunne, not sit there glaring at your plate like it's personally to blame for all your troubles.," She reversed the fork, waited for him to reach out and take it back.," Now eat."

Taking the fork he did as he was told, thinking that he could glare at it if he wanted to. He'd paid for it, after all, hell he could take it over to the Jailhouse and dump it in Ezra's lap if that's what he wanted to do.

The man'd probably even talk to him again if he did, though he doubted he'd really want to hear anything the Gambler would have to say about it, especially since he didn't doubt in the least that most of it would have to do with the cost of the clothes he'd ruined and Ezra's total inability to take a bath in his cell.

Still, he stared at the food for several seconds more because those mashed potatoes would make a statement Ezra wouldn't soon forget.

To say nothing of the gravy.

Then he sighed, putting the image from his mind as he lifted a bite to his mouth, intending to eat only enough to please her because he really wasn't hungry. Then the food was in his mouth and he realized he hadn't eaten anything since the day before and, simple as it might be, the meat-loaf was _good_.

Almost as good as Miss Nettie's, though he knew better than to ever voice that thought. Even here, where she wasn't exactly likely to hear.

He set to with no little enthusiasm and with his head bent to the task missed the bright flash of sadness, of shame, that moved across the woman's face. By the time he came back up for air it was gone again, replaced with a pleased and approving smile.

"There, I knew you had it in you.," Her smile widened when he blushed at the teasing tone in her voice, blushed at his own bad manners for all but inhaling the food on his plate.,"Now I'll let you tell me what's wrong."

He felt himself stiffen, as his face went blank, locking his jaw against the urge to do just that.

He wanted to, God how he wanted to, but still he couldn't convince himself that it was right to discuss all the problems between him and the men he'd made his family with this woman who was, at the end of the day, a stranger. Yes, he'd done so last night; last night when his temper was burning through his commonsense and egging him on into things he knew better than to do. But hadn't he just been telling himself that he needed to think before he opened his mouth?

Telling himself that he didn't want her help.

He'd almost had himself convinced of it too. Damn it, what was wrong with that he always needed someone to lean on, to support him, when he should be strong enough to stand on his own? When he _was_ strong enough to stand on his own.

None of the others, none of them, would reach out to this woman the way he had. Would open their wounds to bleed on her just for the comfort of not being alone anymore.

And now they were falling apart.

His turmoil must've shown plainly on his face as she reached over and took his hand in her own, an unconscious replay of the night before," I said I'd let you J.D., not that I'd make you. But like I said, you've got to talk to someone, if not me then one of your friends. I mean, isn't that what friends are for?"

That's how it was supposed to work. How things had worked until six months ago when they'd just stopped working altogether because the five men who'd stayed couldn't talk to each other. Couldn't allow themselves to share in the grief they'd all felt because they'd been too busy being angry at each other.

Six months of walking around trying to pretend like they were all okay, trying to hold what little they had left together, not knowing how to make anything right again.

The night before he'd sat here with this woman and talked himself dry because he'd been so tired of not talking. Tired of leaving all the things none of them ever said to fill the empty places Chris and Ezra'd once held.

No one was meant to be alone.

"Dean let Nate in to see Ezra this morning."

Ignoring the way his eyes widened after the words slipped out of his mouth, she gave a short, almost curt nod, as if that was nothing more than she'd expected to hear.," Daniel's not a bad Doctor, but if you've got someone else to check up on his work it's not a thing you should just turn away. He's had a hard life, our Doctor, it's made him tired and old before his time.," She shrugged then and there was something almost sad in the gesture," When you get like that you make mistakes, you don't mean to, you just do."

"Fair enough," he muttered, thinking on the fact that Nate would never have left the Jail before Ezra's shoulder'd been set and, whatever else his problems, the Healer truly believed that Waterston had almost killed him.," But then Nate was bullying Ezra and Chris ordered him out and after he left…"

"Chris? You mean Mr. Larabee?"

"Well, yeah."

"But isn't he locked up?"

J.D. felt himself nod, confused because she knew he was.

"Then why didn't Mr. Jackson just stay? It's not like Mr. Larabee could've made him leave if he didn't want to."

"You mean not listen to Chris?," It almost boggled the mind, the idea of actively defying the man, whether or not he happened to be behind bars when you did it. He'd get out sooner or later, after all.

"Well, yeah.," she echoed his earlier affirmation, complete with confusion.

"Because it's CHRIS.," he said it as if it was something so obvious that he couldn't think of any other way to explain it, which was handy, because that was exactly how he felt. Not listen to Chris? Actually ignore him when he stood there glaring at you as if he were about to strip the skin from your bones? For a second he imagined what might happen if he ever actually did that. True, the man almost never raised his voice, never when it was serious anyway, but just the idea of that cold, level tone he used when he was mad being directed at him made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

No. Sometimes you could work around Chris, bend the rules he'd laid out for you, but to deliberately break those rules…

Maisey's voice cut into his thoughts,"Nevermind, I can see it's not something I'm going to understand."

He stared at her for several seconds as those words stirred something, something warm, familiar even, that spread through everything he was until that empty space was gone and all he could feel in it's place was a sense of comfort he'd almost forgotten.

This, this was what was missing,. What they'd taken with them when they'd left. He can remember it now, there, even through all the bad times that had come for them. He'd felt it even when he'd tried to leave, unable to face a town where his stray bullet had taken an innocent women's life. Felt it in the clinic when he'd asked Ezra to stay and when Chris rode out to meet him and he'd told the other man that they'd taken all of Ezra's reasons to stay away from him. He'd felt it right up to the morning he'd opened his eyes and known Ezra was gone and there was no getting him or Chris back.

No one had ever understood.

He could feel the amusement building in his chest then, rising through his throat and tickling his tongue` until he exhaled and suddenly the laughter was rolling out of him, filling the near empty room, echoing back to him off the near bare walls, making the few other patrons stare at him like he'd lost his mind.

Still he laughed, laughed harder when he caught the look on Maisey's face, a look that held a mix of confusion and surprise and insult as if she thought he was laughing at her, laughed until it hurt.

Laughed because it hurt.

As he did so he could hear the dry, unused edge of it smoothing out, as if after having gone so long without laughing at anything at all it took him a minute to remember how it was supposed to go, how it was supposed to feel when something struck you like that and you couldn't help but let the delight of it just roll out of you.

No, he thought as his laughter began to ease off into hiccupping little breaths, he didn't suppose it would be something she'd ever understand.

"Well," and hearing the irritation in her voice as she pulled her hand away from his, his mind flashed to a barely remembered scene of Mary standing in the tavern trying to get them to do something about the fact that Chris was late coming back and she was worried while Buck made innuendos about the most likely reason for the Gunslinger's failure to arrive on time. The annoyance Mary'd felt then had sounded an awful lot like what was coming out of this woman's mouth now.," I'm not really sure what I said that was so damn funny, Mr. Dunne, but I'm glad to have amused you so."

Wiping the tears from his eyes he let his laughter roll away from him, feeling oddly relaxed as it went. ," It's just that back home we used to get that a lot until everyone got used to it."

As she drummed her fingers on the table he was careful not to let himself start laughing again, "Used to what?"

He shrugged one shoulder negligently, gave her a crooked smile," Us."

She gave him a hard eyed stare for several seconds, her back ramrod straight, then her smile returned as her body relaxed, "I was right after all."

Not so much confused as curious, after living with Ezra for so long it too a lot to throw him off his verbal stride, he tilted his head to the side and asked, "Ma'am?"

Her own smile flashed, showing even, white teeth, " That you were meant to smile. It looks good on you."

Blushing again he ducked his head, suddenly shy.,"It's just…when you said that it felt like it used to again. If only for a second."

Taking his hand again she squeezed his fingers, " I glad for that, J.D., but I'm not one of the people who can make it right. You need to talk to the others. Not fight with them, not argue with them. Talk."

"I don't know how to anymore.," the words came out in something far too close to a whine for comfort and he wanted to snatch them back the instant he heard them.

She was right, of course she was right, but every time he thought about just talking with the others about everything it all fell apart.

"Well, if you want things back the way they were you're going to have to learn.," Letting go of his hand she rose from her seat as she spoke, towering over him," And I wouldn't start with Chris and Ezra, you know. Why should they listen to any one of you when you're all telling them something different?"

He blinked at her words, thinking that wanting Chris and Ezra back seemed to be the only thing any of them had in common anymore. Not talk to them? Just the sound of Ezra's voice had eased something inside of him he'd grown so used to being tight that he hadn't even noticed it anymore until Ezra'd leveled those first smooth syllables at Nate like a swift kick to the knees. Even Chris snapping at Nate had been a welcome thing because at least he'd gotten to hear the man's voice, something he'd thought might never happen again.

And words were the only way to get to Ezra, who could sit there and ignore your every action but couldn't stand to let the chance to verbally maim you pass him by. Not talk to them? Was she mad?

"Don't look at me like that.," She snapped, planting her hands firmly on her hips, "Seems to me that none of you have bothered to deal with the things that made them leave to begin with and now here you sit asking them to come back and be put in the same situation that drove them away. Why should they do that J.D.? What reason have you given them to want to come back?"

"We came for them, didn't we?," He snapped, oblivious to the people in the room turning to watch them as he pushed away from the table and rose to his feet.

"Sure enough, but do you think they wanted you to?"

"Of course not! But that's just too bad because we're here now and the only place they're going when they leave his home with us!"

She cocked an eyebrow at him in a startlingly familiar gesture.," And how are you going make that happen? All you've done since you got here is stand around fighting over them like a bunch of kids with a new toy."

Because there was a truth to her words that he didn't want top hear J.D. spoke before his brain had fully processed what he was going to say.," They'll never be able to tell all of us no, they never have! That's why Ezra poisoned us all before he left, why Chris didn't even let us know he was going before he was gone. They were afraid!"

She softened, "Of course they were. Now, if you really want them to come home, I suppose you should find out why that was. If you don't already know, that is."

Gaping he watched as she flashed her dimpled smile at him then turned and walked away.

UUU

When he'd been young and curious Josiah had once spent several hours sitting on a beach talking with a man who claimed to be a Holy Man in his native China, a Monk who'd failed his own expectations as well as those of the people who filled his life. The how and the why of it they'd never gotten into, Josiah feeling that it wasn't a question he should ask, and the older man never offering the information as the hours wore on.

He'd spoken of the weight, the burden of those expectations and the ways they pulled at a man's soul until all you could see were their shadows and you forgot the light you'd been born to. And he'd explained, in his quiet, almost rhythmic voice that Josiah remembers now as symphonic as the tide, that sometimes it's better to let them go. That every man walks a path that is his alone, not to be dictated by another.

_What is right for some,_ he'd said by way of explanation,_ is not right for all. My way is not your way, nor should it be. _

Sitting now beside the river just outside of Huxley he remembers the old Sages words, remembers the way they'd rung out through his young man's heart, striking the first true note of his adulthood as it had occurred to him, for the first time, that he didn't have to be what his father would make him.

He'd clutched those words to him like the last dying embers of the only light in the dark and he'd done his best to hold true to them everyday of his life that followed.

_My way is not your way._

He'd told himself he'd done his best.

Now the time had come, through whatever providence, to amend the wrongs he'd committed against a man who's never done him any greater harm than showing him his own weakness, showing him that there could be other kinds of strength than his own.

By reminding him that _his_ way wasn't the _only _way.

It wasn't a chance he'd ever expected to have.

_Face your own demons_, he said as he'd tossed the money at him, angry because there was a part of him that had, even then, understood the man's point. Not only understood but agreed and he'd been shamed by his inability to give him the only thing he was actually asking for. The only thing he'd _ever_ asked for.

His trust.

Even now there's a part of him that rebels at the thought, an aching, bruised corner of his heart he'd never noticed belonged to Ezra until he was already gone.

_He left. He left. He left._ it chanted at him.

_Yes_, he agreed_, he did._

But the thing of it was that it didn't, couldn't, matter anymore. Not if he wanted anything right or good to come from the smoldering ashes of the recent past. He could forgive Ezra for leaving, had never actually blamed him for doing so. Whether or not the man could ever forgive him was something only he knew.

And even he, he who of them all was supposed to put the greatest stock by such things, didn't know if he had the right to ask for his forgiveness.

"I asked Chris once why we treat Ezra the way do."

Swiveling his head around he turned to see J.D. standing behind him, his stance not exactly relaxed but lacking in the aggression he would've expected after last night.

"And what was his answer?"

"Because he lets us."

That was close to the matter, and more than a little of what had gone wrong, but he knows that's not all of it. Maybe if Chris hadn't been trying so hard to mend the ever widening tares that were pushing the seven of them further apart he could've seen the rest of it, could've seen the why of what they did.

He sighed, wishing he could go back to the days after Ezra'd woken for his last time in Nate's clinic, wishing he could take back his hard, cynical words to Vin who'd only been trying to understand. To make _him_ understand.," He did, and it was shameful of him to accept such treatment.," J.D.'s eyes lit with the same fire of the night before and he would have smiled if he didn't already know it would only antagonize the boy further, not to mention the sure displeasure it would cause his broken nose.," Still, our actions, our treatment of him, aren't his fault but our own. Just because he expected it didn't mean we had to do it."

The younger man calmed slightly at that, Josiah could almost see him edging himself away from that raging, feral temper none of them had ever even guessed at as he exhaled a breath he probably wasn't aware of having taken, his eyes narrowing in a sharp considering look that was very nearly unnerving coming from this boy who would very soon be a man grown.

When he speaks his voice his firm with the authority he feels on the subject and Josiah couldn't help feeling like he'd just been offered a challenge, a test, that he can't afford to fail. , "He doesn't want to forgive us you know. He's tired of feeling bruised and misused. Tired of feeling weak. I don't think he'll come back now. I think it took all that he had to go and he can't face that again."

He stared at him, not so much marveling at, but envious, bitterly envious, of the wisdom he's found in his innocent and loving heart while the rest of them have been running too and fro snatching at it's shirttails.

"Maybe he shouldn't.," he heard himself say, as Ezra's voice echoed through the long, unforgiving halls of his memory _I know I've earned some measure of respect, of trust._ , " Forgive us, I mean. I'm not all that sure, brother, that we deserve it."

As if saying it, admitting, if only belatedly to the wrong he'd helped commit against the Southerner somehow made it okay for him to be there J.D. walked over and lowered himself to the ground next to him, arms resting on his bent knees, his dark eyes staring into water of the river as it rushed away from them with such a look of sadness, of longing, that it was all he could do not to reach out to him.," We don't . You know that, I know that, and he knows that. He's known it all along. We hurt him Josiah, so much that I don't know how the hell he stood it. I couldn't have."

There was nothing but truth to his words and Josiah felt a part of himself shrivel away from it. They had hurt him, damn near everyone of them, and for no better reasons then because Ezra let them.

"The thorns I reap'd , " he whispered," are of the tree I planted, they have torn me and I bleed. I should have known what tree would spring from such a seed. George Gordon, Lord Byron."

J.D.'s shoulders fell as he ducked his head and he wished he'd kept his mouth shut, wished he'd reached instead for the words of comfort and reassurance which had so often and so easily fallen from his lips. Wasn't that why J.D. had sought him out, why anyone ever sought him out? For the comfort, the encouragement they couldn't find within themselves, wouldn't let themselves find in others?

Wasn't that why he'd gone to see the young Deputy today with the anvil of his hangover still pounding mercilessly away at his temples? To seek out some feint glimmer of the hope which was quickly fading from all their hearts?

And what had he found but an anger and pain strong enough to work it's way past even Ezra's careful disregard, his steady, perfect control of his actions and reactions?

Dean had spoken easily and freely of the rampant hostility between the men in his cells, of the harsh, unforgiving words they'd sneered at each other, the accusations they'd shouted. They'd fought, more than once, as each picked and poked at the other until finally they'd come to blows.

They'd had to knock Ezra out to get him to release his hold on Chris's neck and there'd been absolutely no doubt in Dean's voice when he'd said that Ezra would've killed him if they hadn't.

_God forgive us all,_ he thought as he saw in his minds eye the scene the Deputy had described. Saw Ezra with his hands wrapped around Chris's throat in a grip so fierce that his knuckles had turned white as he slammed the other man's head into the ground again and again and again.

Yet, even with all that, he'd found what he'd gone looking for.

_Right after Bradley said something about Judge Travis and how long it might take him to get here…I dunno, something changed. _They_ changed once they got all the shout'in over with. Like it was okay for them to go at each other but damned if anything else was gonna be allowed at 'em. I dunno how to describe it. It was like…everything else was for show, or like they were playing with each other, and then it was _real_ and all the other stuff didn't matter anymore._

Hearing those words he'd wanted to smile, to laugh, to run through the streets of Huxley until he'd found all the others and told them that maybe it would be okay after all, that there was reason enough to hope, because he'd known exactly what Dean had been struggling to describe. Had seen it so many times over the last few years that he'd begun to take it for granted, even in the months since Chris and Ezra had left.

They'd always bickered and fought amongst themselves, even in those first days back in the Indian Village, and yet when faced with even the smallest of outside threats they'd put everything else aside to stand together. United, completely, without any questions or doubts.

Of course, once the threat had been dealt with they'd gone back to their antics without so much as pausing to catch their breaths.

That was just their way.

And if Chris and Ezra hadn't been able to shrug off that habit of unity, even now, then they'd been right to come here, everyone of them.

They'd been right to hope.

But, of course, J.D. probably wasn't aware of that, it's unlikely that any of the others are either.

After all, it wasn't exactly in any of their disparate natures to look on the Deputy as much more than a hindrance, an annoyance made all the worse by the fact that they couldn't simply dismiss him and go on their way. No, he has always been the groups patience, the one who was forever seeking the knowledge others would offer if you were only willing to listen.

Listening has never been seen as much of a virtue amongst his brethren.

"I think, ", J.D.'s voice is careful, somehow delibrate as he turns to look at him, catching his eyes and holding them, " that it would be a mistake to ask him to come back right now."

In unconscious imitation of Ezra's familiar gesture he quirks an eyebrow in question, more curious than anything else.

If he would've once been surprised by the boy's insight he has long since passed beyond it. So far J.D. alone has been able to probe to the heart of this matter and it's only arrogance that would make him think it should be otherwise.

"We never really gave him a choice before, not in his mind. We just pushed and pushed until he had to leave. If we push him to come back…it'll probably work. Hell, it will work. He wouldn't be trying not to talk to us if it were otherwise. But if we do…," and there was a desperation in his eyes now, a frantic, pleading look, begging him to believe, to listen as he hadn't been willing to before. As none of them had been willing to.,"Don't you see, nothing will have changed. Everything will just go back the way it was before, but it was wrong. And it'll stay wrong. And in the end he'll hate us all the more because that'll be the only choice we've left him."

UUU

He didn't even sigh this time.

No, when he looked up to see Nathan striding towards his cell he could muster no greater feeling than mild surprise. After all, it was nearly dark now and this is only the second time he is to be subjected to the man' s presence since he has been allowed access to him. If he were asked, and if he were willing to answer in all honesty, he would have expected the man to be well ensconced in the very same location he was now standing in. If nothing else Nathan Jackson had never taken well to having his will thwarted and somehow, without his fully being able to comprehend it, that is exactly what he and Chris had managed to do when he had attempted to force that will upon them in the earlier hours of the day.

Seeing no reason to edit his thoughts at this late date he did not even wait for Nathan's greeting before saying,"Well Sir, I must say you have surprised and rather disappointed me."

As much to annoy the man as for an any other reason he kept his gaze directed on the pages of the book he had been pursuing before Chris had so persistently provoked him the day before, and even so he knew the look of confusion mingled with annoyance that would have settled on the Healer's face. He'd provoked him often enough in the course of his stay in Four Corners that his reactions had long since grown familiar, if not simply predictable. In all actuality that expression he did not have to raise his head to see was, and always had been, one of Nathan's mildest responses to him.

"And how's that Ezra?"

Yes, it was there in his voice, the confusion, the affront he was admirably trying not to give evidence of coloring the edges of his narrow , suspicious tones.," This is but the second occasion on which you have graced us with your presence this day. I had expected to see you rather more frequently since you have so easily convinced the Deputy to supersede Mister Dunne's obvious wishes to bar you access to this premises. Indeed, your absence represents such a discrepancy in your behavior, I had begun to be concerned for your wellbeing."

He let him process those words as he raised his head to meet his gaze, raising his eyebrow with every ounce of aristocratic condescension he was capable of expressing in a single gesture.

This was Nathan, after all, who of those men he had wanted so badly to accept him had always been the least likely to do so; the one he could always count on to find some evil intent in the smallest of any action he chose to undertake, the one whose reactions are not only the least difficult to predict but also the easiest to control. He has never once in all the years he has been acquainted with him failed to allow himself to be baited and provoked.

Which is something Ezra was almost fervently counting on as he sat in his cell, at last run to ground by these damnable men for no better reason than once a thing became a habit it was almost entirely impossible to escape its influence.

To that effect he continued, his voice almost sweet with concern, "You haven't been unwell, or perhaps unduly fatigued by the tortuous labors incumbent upon one who is so unspeakably morally superior to those of us who must content ourselves with our merely flawed mortality?"

Chris was watching him, he could feel it, feel him wondering what he was about, letting him have at his assault without an indication of intending to interfere. It was disconcerting this so sudden, so fierce support from the man and he distrusted it immensely.

Though he would use it, for as long as it lasted, to further his own aims.

"One day," Nathan ground out between his obviously clenched teeth, "that mouth's gonna get you ina lotta trouble Ezra."

"I assure you there is not a single situation I am incapable of worsening with nothing more than the application of a properly wielded sentence."

In the opposite cell Chris snorted and he resisted the urge to shift his attention completely to the man. For the moment Chris was not a combatant in this minor verbal skirmish and he had no intention of making him otherwise unless and until he was faced with the necessity to do so.

"Obviously. Why do you always gotta carry on like that Ezra? Why can't you just talk to someone for once in your life?"

Not for the first time he thought of the last physical wound he'd suffered in Four Corners, nothing so grandiose or as impressive as those which had forced him into Nathan's care to begin with, just a simple, almost laughable little cut, insignificant really when compared to all the others that he'd suffered.

There had been no surprise in him when Nathan's scissors had slipped and cut into his side, though he could see something very like it in the Healer's eyes when he realized what he'd done. Realized that he'd hurt him, actually drawn his blood, because of his refusal to discuss something that had nothing in the world to do with him.

He'd been appalled and ashamed at himself and for the first time Ezra could claim he thought he had actually managed to surprise him with his acceptance of his action. Oh, it had been clear enough that Nathan did not in anyway want to accept the fact that he had purposefully harmed him, yet it had also been obvious that he had done exactly that.

All because he had refused to answer a question that never should have been asked.

_Of course it would come back to that_, he thought, _to one of the last, and certainly the most crucial, of the times he had refused to bend to the Healer's wishes._

Damn his mother and her inability to simply let things lay where they had fallen.

"I assure you that when I have perceived there to be some value in the forthcoming conversation just talking, as you so quaintly put it, has never been a difficulty. If there has never been such a time between the two of us then it would be a fair assumption that we simply have nothing upon which to mutually and cordially discourse. Since I do not anticipate your presence being all that terribly common in my life after Mister Larabee and I have gained our freedom I do not perceive such a situation to be all that great of an inconvenience."

For what was only the second time since they had met Nathan surprised him, very nearly shocked him, by ignoring the arrows he had just verbally flung at him. Instead he squared his shoulders, set his jaw, and tipped his head to that particular angle Ezra had always detested for its obvious statement of stubborn superiority "I want to trust you.," he said, as Ezra felt his jaw lock, his eyes narrow. Felt that thing that had so gleefully propelled him at Chris lift its head and sniff the air at the total lack of earnestness in Nate's voice. At the accusation ringing through every word.,"I've tried to trust you, but you won't let me. Won't be bothered to give me any reason to trust you to be anything other than you are."

He remembered the feel of Chris's neck beneath his hands, remembered the absolute satisfaction of finally giving vent to all the rage, the frustration, the bone deep, fathomless hurt these men caused him and he wondered as he continued to stare at Nathan how it would feel to reach through the bars and just squeeze until there was no breath left in the man's lungs as that dark and monstrous thing inside him screamed and roared at his unjust words.

He had never given him reason?, his mind shrieked, Could not have been bothered?

In a flash he is riding away from that too familiar village, hesitating, turning back. He is standing in a tent full of drunken men dressed as, not only a woman, but one of negotiable virtue. He is giving his bed, his affection, his money to a desperate and lonely young girl. He is searching for Billy. He is helping Buck restrain and detain the enraged, grieving brother of a murdered young woman to help Vin. He is saving Mary's life.

He is getting shot at. Getting wounded. He is risking his life in countless, sometimes inventive ways.

None of it counting worth a damn to this man and the good people of Four Corners. Not one single action having any significance for anyone but him.

Not one.

His grip tightened on the novel in his hands, a fact he realized only as the spine began to bend beneath the pressure and he very carefully eased his hold. He won't set it down this time, having learned from his previous experience that it is perhaps better to keep his hands occupied., "If you expect that to have changed since you last saw me I am terribly afraid that you will only be further disappointed."

The casual, almost flippant, sound of his own voice is unexpected, yet not unappreciated as he meets Nathan's eyes through the bars he alone knows are the only thing saving the man's life in that moment.

_Why_, he wonders, _won't it stop hurting?_

_"Give me a reason Ez."_

"Go to hell, Mister Jackson."

"Tell me about the war."

"Good Evening Sir."

"Ezra, she wouldn't have said anything if there wasn't a reason. Please, just tell me…"

"Several Southern States, and for a brief two weeks fallowing the draft riots, New York city , ceded from the Union. Eventually the Union won out, the Confederacy was defeated and the rebel states returned to the Union fold, if you will. Uncounted Hundreds, thousands, died horribly, most often alone. Everybody lost. Nobody won. "

Nate stared at him, just stared, as his jaw flexed and relaxed, flexed and relaxed, and Ezra let him because it wouldn't stop hurting. What this man did to him without even trying was both appalling and unforgivable and it is in that moment that he has finally reached the point from which he will not be moved. Not be swayed or bent to a shape or movement that is not his own.

"Nobody won?," the words fell like drops of led from behind Nate's clenched teeth and Ezra had to resist the urge to snarl at this show of anger, of indignation which could never be anything more than a shadow of his own and was certainly less deserved.

"Those people I mentioned died because they disagreed with one another. Families were destroyed. A president was heinously dispatched by an artless coward as he sat with his wife enjoying a night at the theater. Thousands of people were thrown into a poverty they may never escape, not for untold generations. Tell me, wherein you see a nobility in any of that Sir, I find myself simply agog to hear what insight you might offer."

An ugly expression come over the Healer's face then and he was glad, spitefully glad to have pushed the man so far as he took hold of the bars and started to snarl, "You highbred, snot-nosed, _Southern_ bastard! What the hell you know about what was lost? What was paid! What did you ever give to anybody but yourself?"

Opening his mouth to snarl that he had given damn near everything he had, would have given more yet if he'd stayed, he was interrupted by Chris's sudden bellow.

"BUCK!VIN! GET IN HERE NOW GODDAMN YOU!"

The sound of their pounding footsteps followed almost immediately, yet Ezra will not be turned now that the moment is here to finally, finally, face all the things that have stood between him and this man from the very start, rotting and festering, poisoning their every interaction with one another.

It has been far to easy for Nathan thus far, Nathan who has never dared venture from his safe and sanitary distance lest he be forced to recognize those truths which do not fit within the view of the world he has so gladly embraced and would force upon those around him if he but could.

Yet before he can say another word Buck and Vin are there, their expressions carefully relaxed as they take in the scene before them.

"Well now," Buck's lopsided smile did nothing to disguise the watchfulness in his eyes or the careful way he was walking toward the other man," I think visitin hours are 'bout done. Why don't ya ease off a bit there Nate?"

_No!_, he wanted to scream., _No! Stay out of this! Leave it alone!_

"Damnit!," Nathan snarled, rounding on the taller man,"He don't need yer protectin! You think he don' know what he's doin! What he's sayin'? He's thought it all along _Goddamn_ you!"

"Don' know 'bout that.," Vin murmured, his eyes not on Nathan, but on Ezra, quite, searching, and so remorseful that Ezra wanted to snarl at him as well.

Growling low in his throat Nate glared at each of them, shook off the hand Buck had tentatively put on his shoulder, then whirled back to the cell.,"I'm glad you didn't listen to me that morning. Glad you left."

He knew he was smiling, he felt his lips stretching around that familiar shape, watched the corresponding rage it inspired light Nathan's eyes. even

_I know. I have always known. , _he wanted to say ( Even as Buck flinched away from him, as Vin's breath hissed through his teeth and Chris wrapped his hands around the bars of his own cell in such a manner that he could only be thinking of wrapping them around the Healer's throat. ) yet refrained from doing so because voicing those words would be unnecessary in the face of that smile, and not saying it garnered as much or more satisfaction.

What more could he hope for now?

Then, with a precision that could only have come from his years in army the Healer turned on his heal and stalked out of the jail.

"It is tedious really, how people must always return to the familiar. ," He interjected into following silence, ignoring the varied looks the others turned on him, "Because I was born in the south I am, inescapably a Southerner. If I'd been born anywhere else in the world I would merely be a human being."

Then he turned his attention back to the novel, which, he was determined, he would soon finish.

UUU

In human intercourse the tragedy begins,

not when there is misunderstanding about words,

but when silence is not understood.

- Henry David Thoreau


	10. Chapter 10

Though patience had never been his strongest virtue Chris waited until nearly midnight (knowing the shift would have changed and Buck and Vin wouldn't be lurking about and that night watch had never been J.D.'s strong suit) before he said anything to Ezra.

Ezra, who sat exactly as he had before Nate's appearance and their confrontation, book in hand as if there were nothing more important in all the world to give his attention to.

As if he hadn't been in a near killing rage a bare handful of hours ago.

_He's good at that.,_ Chris thought with some admiration as he stared at him from across the cells, _Good at acting like nothing really bothers him. Especially when it does._

And it was time for that to stop.

"Did you own any slaves Ezra?"

The genuine shock in those green eyes as they flew from the page to meet his own was so unexpected and disconcerting that he could feel the words backing up in his throat as his breath caught at the sight. He has seen this man in several situations where shock would have been the anticipated reaction, and still, not once has he seen those features go so utterly, completely, and, most tellingly, _honestly_ blank.

_Almost_, Chris can't help thinking, _as if the very idea is so far from the realm of possibility that the thought he might actually be asked about it was beyond even Ezra's ripe imagination._

_Which_, he reminded himself, _is a stupid thought. He knows what people think of him._

"I beg your pardon?"

Even more telling, there was no denial, no battery of nearly incomprehensible words, only insult and indignation in both his voice and his expression. That in itself was so shocking that for a second all he could do was stare at the man, wondering vaguely if he'd ever really known him at all.

Wondering how much of him really has been for show, if he can count on anything he thinks he knows of him.

"Did you?," he insisted.

But you could always give Ezra one thing, he was quick to rally," Mister Larabee I fail to see…"

"Did you?"

The seconds ticked by as he watched Ezra watching him, those eyes once again hooded and blank, everything about him coiled as tightly as a spring about ready to break.

Then, finally, his voice matter of fact, if not dismissive of the information, "I did not. I'm told my father disapproved of the notion and after his death our economic circumstances would not have permitted such a lavish expense., " His gaze shifted, his voice became firm, cold.," Contrary to popular belief not all residents of the slave holding states were slave holders."

"Why did Maude tell him to ask you about the war Ezra? " _Careful here._ ,"What did you do?"

That stillness again, that watchful wariness of an alley cat.

Chris didn't need to see it to know that this is a subject upon which Ezra does not, for once, want to talk about, wouldn't have had to see his stubborn refusal to do so earlier with Nathan to understand. He knows how a memory can cut you to the very bone and can recognize the signs of a man trying with all he has to avoid it when its there.

But he's not Nathan and Ezra, he is sure, will not be able to avoid the things he doesn't want to talk about with him the way he did earlier with the Healer.

"It is of no consequence, sir."

_Sir,_ he thought with satisfaction, _How many times have you called me _that_? _"Obviously it is. "

"I see no point…"

Recognizing the attempt to hijack the conversation Chris barked out, "_Ezra. Stop_. Just _stop_. Answer the question or ignore it, but for the _love of God_, stop trying to play your games with me."

He watched his fingers tighten on the book and counted silently to ten before the tension in that grasp was relived.

One thing he'd learned early on with the man was that you couldn't wait for him to show his hand because he never would if you didn't push him. Push and poke and prod until he was so uncomfortable that he couldn't _not _do what you wanted him to. He also knew that once you let the man have control of the conversation you might as well just walk away. Give him his head in a verbal skirmish and he could make you forget your own damn name let alone what your original point was.

And you had to remember to be as blunt as possible.

After all Ezra's game was subtlety and manipulation, the only way to counter it was with blatant, in your face, honesty.

Seconds, then minutes passed in silence as Ezra sat there staring into the empty space between their cells.

"I don't like Maude Ezra, we both know that, but I gotta figure she mostly knows what she's doing. She wanted Nate to ask you about that. Wanted him to learn something you wouldn't normally tell him. I just can't tell you if it was something that'd make him think more or less of you., " he waited a beat," Only you know that. As things stand."

Ezra shifted his gaze to him, his face tight and closed.

"Just once Ez, just once, wouldn't you like someone to know the truth? It can't be _that bad_, how could it? "

"How bad, Mister Larabee?," There was the smug sarcasm he'd been waiting for, the dark and dry amusement.," I suppose that would depend upon whom you asked. I assure you though that every one of my fellow Southerners would most adamantly declare that it was, indeed, _that bad_."

Holding his silence, well aware that doing so would be harder for the man to ignore at this point than anything he could say Chris waited…and wasn't disappointed.

Surprised, yes, but not disappointed.

"I was General Sherman's Forerunner."

It came out as a challenge, laced heavily with defiance, instead of the simple statement of fact Ezra would probably have liked it to be. And though he recognized the significance of the name Chris wasn't so sure he caught Ezra's meaning. "His…"

"Everywhere he went on his march to the Atlantic I was there first. Espionage Mister Larabee, I'm talking about espionage. Though using that word in such a context is laughable. The Generals, on both sides, were reading about each others plans in the news papers."

It was his turn to stare in shock, his mouth hanging open.," You're telling me you were _General_…"

"General William Tecumseh Sherman's spy? Yes, for several years, though I was most active in the period just before and just after his assault on Atlanta."

Chris blinked, slowly, several times, as his mind struggled to come to grips with the information the man had so casually parted with.

Ezra, an agent for the North? Ezra a trusted source of information to General Sherman. _The_ General Sherman?

Of all the things he'd expected to hear about the man and his experiences during the war that had never even appeared on the list of possibilities.

Then, with a sudden clarity, he remembered a time when they'd all of them dressed as Union Calvary to drive out the bastards who'd thought they could just waltz into Four Corners without any problem at all. Which, since the seven of them had been officially disbanded at the time, they nearly had. But that wasn't the point. The point was the comment that Ezra'd made just before they'd moved to take their town back.

"You said you never expected to be in "Union Blue."

"Well, obviously not. Being caught in the Deep South during the war in such colors would either have ended in my immediate execution or at the very least an extended stay in the charming Andersonville encampment, neither of which, I can assure you would have pleased either myself or the esteemed General Sherman."

" Why? Why would you do that Ezra?"

The silence fell between them again like a hammer and Chris would've been willing to swear that Ezra flinched away, not from him, but from his question.

UUU

Reaching for the coffee pot still simmering on the stove Nathan paused at the sound of Ezra's voice, the anger he'd banked such a short time ago flaring to life. What he wanted to do, what every bit of him was screaming at him to do, was to go back to the cells and finish what they'd started earlier in the day. To unlock Ezra's cell, get face to face with him, and scream at the top of his voice at the man to _stop, just stop,_ with his word games and his stupid goddamn manipulations and just deal with him. For once in his damn life, to just deal with the person in front of him.

He stood there, his heart pounding in his chest, his breath coming in low, sharp gasps as he told himself that he couldn't do that. Told himself that the only reason Dean had let him sit watch with him was because he'd assured him he wouldn't do anything of the sort.

That, and he'd promised to be gone before the others showed up for the shift change.

Then he heard Chris's voice; Chris's voice but his words, the very words he wasn't letting himself say, and he calmed his breathing as his ears sharpened and strained to catch the conversation.

UUU

"Why would you do that?," Chris persisted, his voice more gentle than Ezra had ever even begun to think the man capable of.

_Why?_, he thought, _Why would I betray everything I had been raised to believe in?_

Because at the heart of it that was exactly what the other man was asking.

Why would he betray his race, his station, his class? Hell, why would he betray his family?

_What we have Ezra is so much more than so many others will ever see in their entire lifetime, and the fact that it is ours, ours to flaunt and take for granted as is our choice, is nothing more than a happy accident of birth. Because of that it is incumbent upon us to do what good we may, however we may, wherever we may. Moreover, we must never, ever forget, that what we call ours was purchased by others labor, others suffering, and make amends for it to the best of our ability._

He closed his eyes against the memory of those words and the voice which had spoke them so many years ago, wanting nothing more than to crawl away from the pain that always followed in their wake.

_Because that wasn't how I was raised._, he thought, not for the first time as he let that too familiar pain wash over him with the odd comfort of an old lover.

He had not meant to answer Chris's questions, to acquiesce to his incessant bullying, not even as much as he had thus far, and had no intention of saying anymore on the subject. This pain has always been his alone, not once in all the intervening years has he ever even approached the subject for fear of never being able to close it off again.

So no one, no one could have been more surprised than Ezra himself as he felt his lips form the words, heard his own voice begin to speak.," My father did not support slavery and for love of him my mother would not have purchased one even if we had been in a position to have done so. And my aunt Magdalena…Aunt Maggie had been freeing her slaves, surreptitiously for years. Mostly mothers and newborns. She'd claim the women died in child birth then send them north to Canada where slavery was not legal. When the war came…," he swallowed back the knot in his throat as Maggie's smile flashed, bright and real as if she were standing in front of him, through his minds eye.," She was part of an underground network dedicated to smuggling escaped slaves to safety in the North. "

He did not bother to look up at Chris as he spoke, did not need to to see that the man was gaping at him. He has been careful to cultivate his image of the genteel Southern rouge, a member of the aristocracy fallen on unbearably hard times. To expect Chris to be anything but shocked by this revelation would be foolish.

"I spent a great deal of time with my Aunt and cousins in my formative years, enough at least, that I suppose it was inevitable that her views would become my own."

He has begun to twist the ring on his finger (the wedding ring his mother had sold to Maggie, who had then given it to him on his twelfth birthday) normally he would curb the gesture, it is a tell he cannot break himself of no matter the effort he has put into doing so. Right now though…in this moment, in this place it is a little thing, of no consequence when compared to the subject at hand.

"When Sherman took over Grant's position I used my connections through my Father's Northern family to contact him and offer my services. It turned out to be a situation to which I was uniquely suited. Actually I enjoyed it until…."

_Until_, he thought and refused to go any further. The memories that followed he had never revisited willingly, doing so now would serve no purpose beyond his own selfish need to be understood and if in only this thing he would not use another's misery, another's pain, to his own benefit.

But then of them all Chris's wounds are most like his own and without entirely meaning to he opens the door.," How did she die Ezra?"

Such a plain and simple question, asked with absolutely no malice, and yet as soon as it was asked Ezra felt his pulse kicking into overdrive as his throat tightened and closed against the intake of air. He wanted to scream. To sob. To reach through the bars of both their cells and continue what he'd started only a day before, can feel his fingers curling into the shape of Chris's neck already.

What he does not want to do, in any way, shape, or form, is to speak the words he can feel backing up along his tongue.

Then, in his mind, there is the distant echo of remembered laughter, the enfolding warmth of a not quite forgotten embrace. Not once in all his life had he ever doubted Maggie, not in the sincerity of her beliefs, nor in her love for those around her. Her love of him. And yet he has spent so much effort and time trying to flee the horror of the end that he has not allowed himself even to return to the memories of all that had come before, to the light and the joy and the ease her simple presence had always engendered.

Moreover, he never will if he cannot get past that last.

What has he become that he would allow himself to sacrifice what had proved to be perhaps the only pure, unselfish love he had ever experienced so as to escape the necessity of having to deal with his pain?

The necessity, as it were, ( And here his lips twisted with something very close to self-deprecation. )of having to face his own demons.

"They were deserters in the union army. Six of them against two women, Aunt Maggie and my Cousin Annabeth. She was two years younger than me and we'd always called her Abeth_.,_" _A blonde haired, grey eyed cherub laughing as she tackled him into the ornamental pond, her joy echoing across the surface of the water as they came up for air._, "Just a silly nickname."

The memories come hard and fast as his words fill the space between himself and Chris, and though he wants to he does not close his eyes and turn his mind to other, less hurtful thoughts. Instead he rides the cresting wave of his pain, rending the scar tissue around his heart asunder.

"I heard about it from the seventh deserter in a bar just outside Atlanta.,"

_In another life he was a shopkeepers son, an unwilling combatant whose family had not been prosperous enough to buy his freedom from the draft. Now he was a man, still young, still so terribly young, whose dark and haunted gaze rarely left the depth of the liquor in his glass._

"I rode my horse to death, "_Not his horse, just the finest piece of horseflesh he had seen outside that Tavern, a pretty little mare who'd had the heart and the vitality of any champion. He had pushed her unmercifully, uncaring as the lather of her sweat soaked into his clothing. Uncaring when she faltered and died no more than sixty feet from the house_ "but I was already too late."

His voice has gone flat, unemotional as he continues his recitation, but he doesn't hear it. Doesn't see the sadness etched deep into the lines of Chris's face. He is back on his Aunt's plantation, screaming his denial, deaf to those same screams as the laughter of the men on the porch rises up to engulf him like the torments of Hell itself. That laughter which will haunt his dreams for years. ," They had hung them naked from the veranda, and were laughing as they pushed their bodies too and fro. Like they were pushing children on a swing."

_The are tears streaming hot as molten lead down his checks as he charges the men, reaching for his gun. His shots are going wild, but all the same a bullet catches the one in the throat. Then there is the feel of the other man's flesh beneath his fingers as he crushes his windpipe._ ,"I killed two before they brought me down and they would've hung me as well but General Sherman arrived on my heels.," _A rough, but somehow kind voice, calling him back from the dark to face things he knows will break him. The understanding in the eyes of the man who had so very recently, without hesitation, burned Atlanta itself to the ground._

"He saved my life."

_And let me take theirs_, he thought but didn't add, feeling again the weight of the pistol Sherman handed him, his own personal sidearm, seeing the remaining four deserters bound and lined up before him like so many cattle waiting for the slaughter. Felt the dissatisfaction as each body dropped, lifeless, to the ground.

Their deaths were too clean, to _humane, _when what they had done had earned them pain and suffering beyond measure. He had wanted them dead, true enough, but not like this. Not with _mercy_. No, he had wanted to slit them from neck to nuts and play in their blood while their screams echoed in his ears.," It was only then I learned that it was not two women they'd face, but three. My youngest cousin, Adeline had been there as well. She was sixteen and when Sherman's men found her, she was incoherent with hysteria and terror. They had brutalized her you see. Everyone of them."

_The bile rises in his throat as the aide decamp moves away and he gets his first sight of her. Sweet, beautiful Addie curled into a ball in the corner of the ice house, covered in dirt, reeking of pain and terror, blood and the biting odor of quick drying semen._," I was the only male she'd let anywhere near her."

_Kneeling in the dirt and the filth, gathering her in his arms. And God but how small she is, how weightless like some precious doll. Not saying anything because he doesn't know what to say. Just holding her there as she screams and sobs and clutches to him until it occurs to him that she should not be in that place. That there can be no comfort for her at the very sight of such brutal happenings._

And what had he done, but gathered her up and taken her away? What else could he have done?

Days, weeks, months passed as he searched for any sign, any word if even only a notice of death, of the rest of his shattered family. Maggie had had three older sons, Abeth had been married, everyone of them had had children.

Eventually he learned that his Aunt had sent her grandchildren, their nursemaids and mothers, her youngest son, to safety. But no one could quite say where. They had land in the Caribbean. Friends in France. In the North. In Canada. They could have gone anywhere.

Of his male cousins he had learned nothing.

No matter the strings he (And General Sherman) pulled, no matter the favors he called in, or his various and ultimately futile attempts to locate them through his contacts in the confederacy. They had gone to war, like so many others, and there, it seemed, ended there stories.

And there was Addie.

Addie who needed care beyond what he could provide, because they had broken so very much more than her body that day in the ice shed.

"I took Addie to a Sanitarium in D.C., it was a beautiful place Chris, a private home which had somehow survived the ravages of the conflict in eighteen twelve, modeled after the great houses in Mayfair, with acres of gardens. Addie so loved gardens."

But it hadn't been enough, that beautiful house with its equally beautiful gardens, to bring her back to herself' and he had not been strong enough to stay by the side of this ghost who had once been his beloved cousin.

His little sister.

"I left her there. And having already severed my ties with General Sherman, who, for his own reasons, saw to it that all the costs of my cousins care were covered, I headed west., " He allowed himself a small, sarcastic smile then, " I and every other man woman and child fleeing the remnants of the world we had thought we knew."

But he hadn't gone far had he, not really. Only to the Mississippi and her riverboats. To the gambling tables in their ostentatious bars, and their relatively fine liquor. To the arms of women glad to share their warmth with a man whose pockets were bulging every night with his winnings.

"Six months later I received word from the sanitarium that she died trying to cut the rapists child from her womb. I crossed the Mississippi that day and have not returned east since."

Coming back to the moment his eyes refocused on Chris's face, a face which did not show the pity which would have made him turn away spitting his anger and his insult at the man, only sadness and understanding. Only the echo of a similar pain.

" You see Mister Larabee I can well understand my Mothers intention when directing Mister Jackson to seek knowledge of these things, as I suppose you yourself are now capable of as well. I think, too, that you now understand why I will not speak of them to him. They loved me, without restrictions or demands, and in trying to uphold and defend those beliefs which they held so very dear, I helped destroy them. The deserters were fleeing Sherman's command, you see, and were it not for the intelligence I myself had provided they never would have been in the area. Possibly I could have done more damage by simply drawing a map and handing them the keys to my families home, but I find it difficult to see how that could possibly be."

"It wasn't your fault Ezra."

"No more, Mister Lara bee, than the murder of your family was yours."

UUU

Slowly Nate moved to lean against the desk as his legs turned to water, his hands clutching with something like desperation at the smooth worn edges of the wood as his image of Ezra collapsed in on itself and left him with nothing but his own shattered assumptions.

_My God_, he thought simply, _My God_.

UUU

Living is easy with eyes closed, misunderstanding all you see.

- The Beatles, Strawberry Fields


	11. Chapter 11

CHAPTER ELEVEN

It's late when Mary sets her pen aside, finally acknowledging the headache that's been building behind her eyes for the past few hours. Absently she rubs at her temple as she stares down at the letter she's been writing, the words blurring together in her fatigue.

It's nice enough to hear from Gerard, there's a history there she finds comforting, but in every one of his letters there's still the veiled reference to marriage, as if denying him twice outright and subtly in every answering letter since is not enough.

_I think of you often_, he wrote.

_How wonderful it would be to have you here._

It was becoming a nuisance, _he_ was becoming a nuisance with his stubborn refusal to accept that she would never be his wife.

_But why not?, _she thought. He'd make a good husband, a good father, and was the type of man she'd always imagined herself with. The type of man she'd always planned to build her life with. Well educated, steady, kind.

Dependable.

He certainly wasn't the brooding type, there was nothing dangerous nor volatile in him and she'd never had to spend hours trying to decipher what the hell was going on between the two of them. Or whether or not there was anything going on between them at all for that matter.

And she would never, ever, have to worry about looking up one day to see him riding out of her life.

_Enough_, she told herself, _Leave it alone, damn it just leave it alone._

"Mom?"

Startled her gaze snapped up to find Billy, still fully dressed, still awake when he long since should have been asleep, standing in the door of her office.

As usual she felt her heart contract at the sight of him, felt her lungs seize on the breath she'd just taken. She loved him so much that sometimes she wasn't sure how she lived with it. Even the sullen, secretive ghost of him she'd been living with since Chris and Ezra had so easily stepped out of their lives.

She could kill those men for that.

_How dare they_, she thinks, _how dare they make him love them and then leave. Just leave as if none of it had ever mattered at all. As if _they_ didn't matter._

_He_, she corrected herself, _As if _he _didn't matter._

She'd even thought about sending him back to his grandparents in the aftermath of their leaving, thinking being away from the memories of those heartless bastards might make it easier for him to accept their absence. Had gone so far as to ask if him he'd _like_ to go.

She hadn't known her son was capable of such a fierce anger but it was a lesson she wouldn't forget.

He didn't look sullen or secretive now though, nor is there any evidence of that anger. Instead he looked rumpled and tired, more weary than any little boy should ever have to be, and there was something in his voice, something small and hesitant, that tells her he is afraid.

Terribly afraid.

Pushing away from the desk she opened her arms with a come hither gesture and with more willingness than she'd thought possible he came, crawling into her lap, putting his arms around her as he hadn't since before his father died.

"What is it, Honey?," If she was tempted, as any mother would be, to remind him that it's past his bedtime she knew better than to say as much. They both knew he hadn't been sleeping well in the last few months, as they both knew the cause, and they've fought over it often enough. Doing so now would serve no better purpose than to make him turn away.

His grip around her neck tightened and she could feel the fear coming off of him as her own embrace grew stronger in response.

"Grandpa…Grandpa won't…,"She felt him take a deep breath, bracing himself.,"He won't make them die. No matter what they did. Will he?"

It's no secret where the town Peacekeepers have gone off to, no more than the reason for their abrupt departure and this isn't the first time she'd been asked that question. Orrin Travis wasn't known as The Hanging Judge for nothing but no one could quiet wrap their minds around the idea that he'd not only let but sentence Chris Larabee and Ezra Standish to hang. Of, course no one could quiet figure why both men were in Jail for murder in the first place when they'd left town weeks apart and with no apparent communication before hand either.

Will Orrin hang them? Knowing them the way he does? Knowing it will break his grandsons heart all over again?

She doesn't know.

She doesn't know and all she can think about is that he might.

That, however, isn't something she can say to her son. Her son who Loves Chris like a father and, she has begun to realize, Ezra every bit as much as that.

"Your Grandpa only hangs bad men Billy, and Chris and Ezra aren't bad men.," _Stupid, thoughtless men, but not bad_.," Besides that's why the others are there, to make sure everything turns out all right."

Somehow she's not very surprised when he corrects her, " No, they went because they want to make them come home because they still don't understand why they left. Mister Ezra says they're meddlesome, but they can't help it."

"Does he now? Well, I don't suppose he said anything else of any value.," she murmered, wincing almost as soon as the words were out of her mouth.

"Lots. But mostly that its not my fault Chris left and that's not why you wanted to send me away."

"Of course it's not your fault Billy! Oh God, I don't want you to ever think that…," her words drifted off as what he'd just said, what he'd _really _just said, settled into her mind.

There is absolutely no way Ezra could've known she'd intended to send him back to his grandparents. No way at all unless…

Very carefully she eased away from him, not far, just enough to make him look her in the eye.," Billy, when did Ezra say that?"

He looked away, quickly, then back and away again.

Any mother worth her salt would recognize that behavior.

"Billy?"

"I'm not 'sposed to say."

"Billy, you're not in trouble…"

"No mom, I'm not supposed to say! He asked me not to and I'm not gonna!"

Though there is a part of her that is taken aback by his suddenly sharp tone there is another part of her, a deep, tightly coiled part of her, that loosens and eases as she finally understands.

_Of course_, she thinks, recalling all the time he's spent at the Post office lately, his eagerness to send and retrieve her own post., _My God, no wonder he didn't want to leave._

At some point after he'd left Ezra must've started to write him and somehow he must've been able to write the man back. There wouldn't have been any real frequency in their correspondence (or at least none that she could imagine, but who was she to say?) but with an apparent faithfulness she found almost stunning.

He'd left, without a word for another soul, but he'd stayed in contact with Billy.

_They want to make them come home_, he'd said. Not back, but _home_.

UUU

Maisey was sitting at the bar when the man, Nathan Jackson, ordered what looked to be his third bottle.

She knew she shouldn't be, sitting in a saloon that was, but Shannon, one of the barmaids, took a room with her and the girl hated to walk home alone. Before he'd been put in jail Ezra had made a point of being there to walk her home at night, a kindness which had never been asked of him and had been appreciated all the more for that. But then there was the shooting and there was no one else she trusted enough to get the girl home safe and unmolested.

So here she sat in the last place the respectable woman she was trying so hard to be could afford to be seen waiting for Shannon to finish her shift.

To say it made her uncomfortable to be here would be an understatement, but all things considered she'd rather be uncomfortable than take the chance that something could happen to the girl on her way home in the late hours of the night.

That something very well _could_ happen she took for granted, the world they lived in was not a kind place to a woman alone.

Curious as she waited for Shannon she eyed Mister Jackson from across the room, this man J.D. thought so very highly of even as he made him so mad and frustrated that he didn't know what to do with himself.

For herself this was her first encounter with the man, he never came to her table, and wherever he slept it wasn't in one of her rooms, but the impression she had formed to date wasn't exactly a favorable one.

Here, she thinks, is one of the men that took away J.D.'s smile.

To be fair he didn't look as she'd pictured him, all slouched and bunched into himself as he poured the whiskey with a deliberate kind of concentration the action shouldn't have warranted. He looked dazed and tired, a man suffering from a bad shock .

She would never approach this man the way she had J.D., could not picture herself forcing her way into his thoughts and his world in such a manner, but to her shock she wanted to. There was something so lonely, so desolate about him that she wanted to put her arm around him, wanted to tell him that nothing was ever broken so badly that it couldn't be fixed.

Had it been J.D. sitting there with two empty whisky bottles in front of him as he started his way into a third she would have done just that, knew he would have welcomed the gesture because he was still young enough to understand that no burden had to be borne alone.

This man whose very skin proclaimed the trials he must've faced in his life would never welcome any such gesture.

Not from her and very likely not from anyone else.

Then Shannon was there, her threadbare shawl draped over her shoulders, putting an end to her musings about Nathan Jackson.

Repressing a sigh she threaded her arm through Shannon's and walked through the batwing doors beside her into the night.

UUU

Desperate times called for desperate measures and it was with absolutely no shame that Buck turned the key in the lock of Ezra's cell, quickly turning to pass said key to Vin so that he could do the same with Chris's cell.

"Rise and shine boys!," he shouted with something close to glee.

"C'mon Cowboy, lazy's not yer way.," Vin called out behind him as he heard the door to the opposite cell swing open

No one was surprised at the speed at which the apparently sleeping men reacted, both quickly maneuvering themselves into an upright position, both reaching for weapons they didn't have.

Behind him he heard Chris's voice, rough from sleep and what Ez'd done before they'd got here, "What the Fuck do you think you're doing?"

Keeping his eye on Ezra, who sat on his bunk suspiciously quiet, perfectly unmoving, Buck answered, "What we have here is a bit of a situation."

"Nothin' much," Vin put in, "but we'll be needin' yer help jest the same."

"Get out of my cell Vin. And lock the damn door behind you."

"Now Chris, why ya gotta be like that?"

Still Ezra just sat there, that aristocratic jaw of his tightening up in a way Buck knew too well and had missed with an almost worrisome amount of affection.

"C'mon Ez, it's just a bit of an outing. You should be glad to be outta this cell.," he smiled, knowing how much the expression would annoy the man, then added, "Fact is I thought by now you'd be all but begging us to let ya out."

If he knew one thing in life it was how to get a rise outta people, his friends better than most.

"I assure you Sir that I do not beg. Moreover I find I have grown rather accustomed to my circumstances and have no wish to worsen them in this poorly executed attempt at a jailbreak. As Mister Larabee said, be sure to lock up on your way out."

"What part of get out did you fail to understand Vin? Jesus, where the hell is Dean when you need him?"

"Nate's drunk.," Vin said simply, his voice heavy with an implication that would have been out of place if you didn't know the man in question.

Even watching for it Buck almost missed the flash of emotion that crossed Ezra's face, though it'd come and gone too quickly for him to say what emotion it was exactly. The mere fact that it'd been there at all gave him some hope that maybe this afternoon hadn't really been as bad as he'd thought it was, hadn't made the situation impossible to fix.

"So what if Nate's drinking? What do you want us to do, break outta jail to join him for a quick one?," Chris said behind him and still Buck kept his gaze on Ezra, who wouldn't meet his eyes.

"No, Nate's _drunk_ cowboy. Well and truly drunk."

A tense silence fell over the cells as Ezra's eyes flew to his, disbelief written plain across his face, which was maybe the most obvious expression he'd ever seen on the man.

"Nate doesn't get Drunk.," Chris protested with almost no conviction, obviously recalling the one and only time anyone of them but Josiah had seen the man have more than one or two drinks.

It hadn't been fun. It hadn't been pretty. And it really hadn't ended on all that much of a high note.

"Well, I'd say it's more he don' get drunk very often. ," Vin corrected.

"Will you shut up, Vin?"

"When you get off yer ass and do something' I jest might."

He winced and was already turning to head off the tempers rising behind him when Ezra's voice cut through Chris's response.

"Why?"

Attention snapping back to the Southerner (Wanting to wince because that was how he thought of him) he did what was expected and asked ,"What was that there Ez?"

"Why," Ezra rose from the bunk as he spoke, moving with a coiled grace that made Buck want to take a step back, if not slam the cell door closed altogether, his face darkening with a temper he'd never seen before but had imagined when he'd seen what the man had done to Chris.,"is Mister Jackson currently so inebriated as to have both yourself and Mister Tanner desperate enough to seek our aide?"

"Beyond the obvious, ya mean?," he asked, thinking of what had gone down between the two of them earlier and playing for time as his mind raced.

He hadn't expected enthusiasm from the man but he sure as hell hadn't expected the out 'n out rage he could feel coming off him in waves either. Ezra's temper had always been cold, sly, damn near quirky, his control of it perfect.

Not that he'd ever doubted the man was capable of more, growing up as he had he'd learned to watch for the subtle clues in a man that were more often than not all the warnin you ever got before they went flying off the handle and he'd long since realized that it really was the quiet ones you had to watch out for.

Men like Chris, hell men like him, you expected them to come out swinging, there just wasn't any subtly to their natures.

Men like Ezra, like Vin and Josiah, you had to keep your eye on because it was entirely too likely that you wouldn't be looking when all of a sudden something, some little thing that shouldn't matter, happened and without any warning a'tall they'd overturned the table, shot the Dealer and burned the building to the ground.

All the same he hadn't seen it coming.

Not today, not after the he'd stayed his cool self in the face of Nate's insults. Handling them better, in truth, than the rest of them had.

But then he thought of the bruises on Chris's neck, remembered Dean's description of how they'd got there.

_You can only push a man so far_, he thought, _And maybe, just maybe, he don' have no control left._

Those green eyes snapped fire at him before shifting to some point over his shoulder and he heard Chris curse under his breath.

And he knew, just by that, that the situation had just gone bad on him.

Well, worse than he'd expected.

"I find it beyond interesting, " Ezra hissed, taking a step toward him, " that you should seek my help in addressing any difficulties Mister Jackson might be facing at this time, not to mention utterly baffling as I cannot imagine he would welcome my interference at this juncture."

"Ez…"

"Not to mention that not a single one of you fine Gentleman, most especially Mister Jackson, has ever gone out of his way to help me in any way shape or form,."

Eyes narrowing Buck took a step toward him, his long stride halving the distance between them.,"I understand what yer saying boy, I do. , " he snapped, wagging a finger at him ever as he thought, _Yep, no subtly here_, "And it's true enough that Nate ain't ever done you no favors. But you're gonna wanna get off your high horse Ez, I ain't never done you no wrong."

"Get away from him Buck! Now!"

"Don't take this the wrong way Chris, but go to hell., " he tossed over his shoulder before turning back to the man in front of him.," I was your friend there son, every blessed step of the way, and you ain't gonna stand there and tell me that I wasn't!"

Maybe he didn't have a response to that, maybe he did, Buck couldn't say, but Ezra opened his mouth and he didn't have to hear what he had to say to know that he was gonna roll right on ahead as if he hadn't said a word and Buck felt his temper snap.

_No subtly a'tall._

"You left because you wanted to Ezra, because you were too damn afraid to stand there and fight it out with the others. To tell them what a bunch of bastards they were being. You don't get to blame me because you're a goddamn chicken shit!"

"Easy now Buckly…"

"Buck _damn_ it!"

"And where were you when I needed you Buck? JUST WHERE THE HELL WERE YOU!"

He remembered then Ezra's goodbye, remembered that he'd had no warning for it, no preface. Remembered thinking that he knew Ezra was meaning to go., "Have you ever stopped to think that if you'd told me you needed me I'd been right there at your Goddamn side? _Hell_," he snarled, " not even that. If you'd just turned around to look you'd seen where _the Hell_ I was Ezra., "He took another step forward, jabbed his finger into his chest hard enough to bruise.," Right there next to you son. _Right_.," Jab.,"_There.,"_ Jab.

"WHAT IN THE NAME OF ALL HELL IS GOING ON IN HERE?"

As one the four men turned to see Deputy Dean standing in the hall, eyes bulging, face quickly going from red to purple as he visibly struggled to control his temper.

And as one all four men said.," It's not a Jailbreak."

Which, Buck thought making no move away from Ezra, said something about all five of them.

Then Vin had to go and make it worse, which wasn't really his style but they were all knida stressed right now.

"We're just borrowing 'em for a sec."

If anything that only made the Deputy more agitated as he planted his feet, took a deep breath and let lose with a display of temper that even Buck, no stranger to such things, and all things considered really, found impressive.

"You are not _borrowing_ them! Or breaking them out! Or taking them _anywhere_! For _Fuck sake_! What is _wrong _with you people? Half the fucking time you don't even _talk _to each other, and then when you do you just fight and snip and snipe at each other like a bunch of old women! And now you think you're just gonna come in here and take _my fucking prisoners_ wherever the hell you want to like it's no damn thing _at all_! While you're standing there why don't you just go ahead and close the _Fucking door _behind you? At least when you're all locked up I can get some _fucking_ sleep! AND WHERE THE HELL DID YOU EVEN GET THE DAMN KEYS?"

Not unappreciative of his predicament Buck repressed his smile as his own temper cooled as quickly as it'd heated, because, really, he wouldn't have expected this of the man but he was kinda proud of him for it all the same.

"Trust me, " Vin assured him, " you wanna let us have our way this time."

The Deputy made a sound, which probably wouldn't be considered polite, his hands clenching and unclenching where they hung at his side.

Shooting him a look of contempt Ezra sat back down on the bunk, picked up his book and , for all intents and purposes dismissed everyone else in the room from existence.

Normally he would agree with Ezra in that Nate's problems weren't any of his business, but there was the way he'd reacted to the fact that Nate was drinking, the way Chris had reacted and that Goddamn whiplash of temper. And that told him that whatever the reason for Nate's sudden urge to drink it had something to do with the two of them.

Most men would think that unlikely since the three of them hadn't seen each other since Nate and Ezra's earlier confrontation but he wasn't most men and he knew his friends.

Directing his eyes heavenward the Deputy was clearly trying to take the time to collect himself, then obviously remembering how well that'd worked before he shook his head and met them look for look.,"You're going to explain this situation to me, _now_. And you are going to make _sense_. And you will tell me _where you got the keys_."

No one said anything, no one moved.

Typically enough ( While he was still trying to figure out what the hell Dean was doing there when he knew the man had been off the bed at the end of his watch) it was Ezra who broke the silence.

He never looked away from his book as he drawled out in his bored way.," Mister Jackson is not one to partake too liberally of the bottle as he becomes rather…unpredictable. Sometimes even violent. Yet it would seem that he has chosen your lovely town to do just that. After you and your men have first restrained and then detained him I want it to be known that I will not have him in this cell, Sir. Whatever the inconvenience this may cause you or anyone else."

"My men? What are you…"

"Damn it he's not gonna be in here…"

"I'm afraid Mister Larabee that the third cell will be needed for those members of the populace who will find themselves incapable of ignoring the chance at a good old fashioned…"

"What men? Members of the populace? Are saying…"

"That's right," Vin chimed in," there ain't no one fer crowd control lest we ken find 'Siah."

"Crowd control?"

Buck wanted to laugh as Ezra and Chris, then Vin, began to wind the man into just the position they wanted him in.

Nothing had ever made them put aside their differences quicker than someone else buttin' their noses in.

Then Dean seemed to collect himself, literally shaking off the confusion he was clearly feeling., " You're not taking my prisoners anywhere. I'm sure I can handle Mr. Jackson."

"Well, yer' a brave soul.," Vin drawled.

"That'll make a nice headstone there., " he thought to add, not wanting to be left out.

"Epitaph.," Ezra corrected, then frowned at the pages of his book.

The Deputy muttered something under his breath, something he didn't quite catch but sounded a lot like Bradley, with enough force to make Buck pity the man when he finally made it around to making an appearance.

"I still don't see…"

"It goes like this son, " Buck cut him off, " the only people Nate'll listen to when he gets like this are Josiah and Chris and we don't have the time to go searching 'Siah out. Besdes which, I dunno what set him off, but I'm willing to bet it has something to do with these two you got here. Can't see how as he ain't been near the jail in hours, " There was a flicker in the younger man's eyes at that, not much, but enough for Buck to see the lie, the guilt ,"but there it is all the same. Now you can follow the rules and deal with this on your own, or you can listen to us and let us take care of it before it becomes a whole lot more than you can handle. Whatcha gonna do, pick us all off one by one? You ain't got enough cells for that and I'm telling you now that's how it's gonna go if we don' put a stop to it right here. Trust me on this. We're trying to help."

Ezra snorted, actually snorted and Buck's attention shifted to him with something like shock.

_Well hell, _he thought_. _Then snapped," What's that supposed to mean?"

"Generally speaking it is usually taken as an expression of derision."

"English, Ez."

The other man sighed, long and deep, "Mockery, disdain, ridicule, contempt…"

"Oh just shut up.," he snapped, though not with much heat.

"You can take them."

Once again four sets of eyes swung to the Deputy, who looked about as harassed as a man could look, as Ezra dropped his book and all but launched himself back to his feet.

"I never once said I had in anyway resolved to cooperate with this farce! Furthermore I have no intention of leaving this cell with Judge Travis's arrival only days away! I am more than aware of how that man thinks and the absolute last thing I need is for one of your ever well-meaning citizens to inform him that I was seen gallivanting around town during the period of my incarceration! Misters Tanner and Wilmington will just have to resolve this issue on their own. They have, after all, managed to do so well enough for the past six months."

"Shows what you know.," Vin drawled.

Buck darted a look toward Chris, saw his jaw beginning to work in that way he remembered so well from the days before he'd married Sarah and knew there wasn't going to be any help coming from that direction.

"Fine then. Which one of you's gonna share a cell with him?"

UUU

Settling into bed that night Maisey allowed herself a small sense of satisfaction.

There was no doubt in her mind how the two Four Corners lawmen would react to the conversation she and Shannon had been having about her last customer as they passed the Jailhouse, and it hadn't been but a moment to stop off by Kevin's and let him know there seemed to be an awful lot of activity at his Jail for such a late hour.

He'd apologized, with all the manner's his mama'd taught him, for the string of profanities he'd let loose as she stood there with Shannon on his porch and nearly forgot to put his boots on in his hurry to stop whatever was going on.

Somehow she doubted Ezra was going be too happy about the results of her recent efforts and though that nagged at her she shrugged it off and pulled her blankets higher around her neck.

No, he wasn't going to be happy, but then he'd only asked her to _do_ this thing, he'd never said _how _he wanted her to do it.

And that was a fact not even Ezra Standish could argue his way around.

UUU

The secret of a good life is to have the right loyalties

and hold them in the right scale of values.

-Norman Thomas


	12. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer:** I own very little, certainly not the rights to the Magnificent Seven and this story is intended for entertainment purposes only. I am neither seeking nor making any profit. All original characters I.E. Maisey, Sheriff Bradley , and Deputy Dean _are_ mine and may be used in stories of a similar context and rating.

**Author's Note:** When I originally started this story I had some idea of where it was going; that no longer seems to be wholly the case. But seeing as how that was years ago and much has happened since then I shouldn't be terribly surprised by that. Anyway, as a result there are some chapters that come harder than others ( though I am trying to go for one a month to two months) and they end up taking longer than I initially thought they might. Yet for all that I sincerely apologize for the recent delay on this chapter. Especially as I realize my past history on keeping up with a story isn't exactly reassuring. I_ am _going to finish this story though. It's become my mission. Anyway thanks for the patience and thank you for reading and leaving feedback, all are treasured and appreciated.

**CHAPTER TWELVE**

"Never in my life have I suffered such a gross indignity…"

"That include the time you dressed up like a saloon girl to get Mary…"

"Shut _up_, Mister Tanner!"

Smiling evilly Kevin trailed several feet behind the men, wondering if he'd ever felt such satisfaction in his whole life. For days now Standish and Larabee, and then their friends, had been making his life complicated and just flat unpleasant and if he could return that favor, if only in the smallest measure, then he saw nothing wrong with enjoying it.

Clearly agitated Standish yanked viciously at the chains connecting him to Gerald Lewis (the towns black smith and the largest S.O.B. Kevin had ever seen) who didn't so much as grunt in response.

"Paraded through town, chained to this behemoth, I mean no offense Sir, as if I were some…"

"Criminal?," Kevin offered, unable to keep his amusement out of his voice.

"And you! A _sworn_ representative of the law not only allowing this absurdity, but participating in it! You should be shamed Mister Dean by this gross act of negligence and incompetence! And what Sheriff Bradley should have to say I dare not imagine!"

"Considering his _gross dereliction of duty _I don't think he'll have too much to say about it."

Which wasn't exactly true, now was it? The Sheriff had neither abandoned his duty nor did he really think the man was going to be exactly supportive when he heard about tonight's little adventure, but then nothing had gone exactly the way it should've since the beginning of this thing.

A fact which couldn't be ignored as he trailed behind Gerald and the two men chained to either arm, who, in their turn, were fallowing behind Tanner and Wilmington who continued to bicker with Standish as he bitched his way down the street.

_I must've lost my mind._, he thought as they drew closer to the very bar this whole stupid mess had started in._ That's got to be it._

Why else would he have agreed to let his two prisoners, men awaiting trial for murder no less, leave their cells ( However he might have restrained them) and for no better reason than because one of their friends was getting drunk? Whatever Wilmington had insisted it couldn't be that bad.

Right?

UUU

Nate didn't look up as the six of them entered the bar, though the bartender did and no one missed the way his eyes widened when they fell on the two men he'd last seen standing over the body of the man they'd killed.

Chris felt the cold smile settle on his lips before his eyes fell to one of the only three occupied tables in the room, it's occupant so engrossed in whatever visions he was seeing in the depths of his glass that he seemed completely unaware of the sudden change in the atmosphere of the room.

Which said a lot, Chris knew, about his state of mind.

_Damn, damn, damn._, he thought, not wanting to have to deal with this, wishing he'd just kept riding past this Godforsaken town in the first place.

However he'd made it look leaving Four Corners hadn't been easy, if he'd hesitated for even a minute he knew now, as he'd known then, that he wouldn't have left at all. And he hadn't hesitated, hadn't taken the time to examine his reasons or his options. He'd saddled Job and ridden out and for the past six months he'd refused to look back. To wonder and worry about almost everyone he'd left behind, or why he'd left them behind to begin with.

And now here he was, right back where he'd started and with no option but to keep moving on ahead.

_Damn it all, you'd think a group of grown men wouldn't need a Goddamn babysitter._

Behind him he could feel Dean falling back ever further as Buck and Vin moved ahead to take seats directly across from Nate, the humor they'd nettled Ezra with only moments before completely gone from their faces.

_Ezra_, he thought on what was almost a sigh.

If either of them had any doubts about what would send Nate to the bottle he knew it wasn't the Gambler and that alone was going to make this…

_Fucked_, he thought wryly, _not to put too fine a point on it._

In fact he didn't need to look at the man to know that Ezra's face had gone hard and unreadable, to feel the anger coming off him in waves and he didn't, couldn't, blame him for it. The things the man had revealed to him had been brutal and hard and he hadn't wanted to tell them to him. Hadn't wanted to tell anyone really and Chris still isn't exactly sure how he'd gotten any of it out of him.

But then he knew what it was like to hold a thing like that to yourself for too long. Knew how at first it was from guilt and pain and the simple horror of surviving. Then, somehow it became a comfort, a way to keep those who were gone close to you, until it started to fester and then the end was all you could remember of those who were gone.

But you couldn't let it go _because_ it was all you could remember.

_But you have to._, he thought even as he wanted to cringe away from the very idea, wanted to shudder with the pain it sent twisting through his heart, _You have to or you lose everything they ever were._

But that didn't mean he was ready to share it with anyone else and there was no way to tell how he was going to react if Nathan's drunk was a direct result of his having heard every word out of Ezra's mouth.

To hell with riding past Huxley, he should've never even stopped in Four Corners, all those years ago.

_Should've. Would've. Could've._

"I think that's just about enough of that.," He muttered (As much to himself as anyone else) and so saying he reached out and took the only bottle in front of Nate that still had anything in it.

Or he would've, anyway, if Nathan's hand hadn't suddenly shot out and ripped the bottle from his grasp." 'm not done wi't tha'."

"You are now.," he snapped and reached again for the bottle, only to have the man jerk it out of his reach.

That was one of the things about Nathan when he got drunk like this, it didn't slow him down, didn't, until a certain point, make him as clumsy and, well, stupid as it did most men.

He'd never been sure if it would've been better if that weren't the case, but he was damn well sure enough that it couldn't be much worse than what he already had to deal with.

"Nate, give me the Goddamn bottle."

"No."

Then confirming his worst fears for the situation his bloodshot eyes shifted to Ezra, ripe with accusation., "You shou'da tol' me. Ezra…you shou'da tol' me."

Not even bothering to arch his eyebrow Ezra just stared at him, eyes blazing with something Chris was more than a little afraid to put a name to, for several seconds before saying, " I'm sorry?"

"Magdalena Telfair-Perdue.," Nathan pronounced the name without difficulty, his voice absent of the drunkenness obvious in his earlier words., "Your Aunt."

Darting a quick look to Vin and Buck, relived by their puzzled expressions, Chris waited for Ezra's reaction. After all the story hadn't been, and still wasn't, his and he wasn't prepared to decide on the other man's behalf how this should be dealt with.

Especially as there was obviously more going on here than he knew about because not once had Ezra mentioned his Aunt's last name.

But of course, if there was a way to complicate anything then these men would find it.

"My Aunt…,"The words sounded, if it were possible, awkward coming from Ezra, as dry and unadorned as anything he'd ever said in all the years he'd known him.," I don't believe I have ever spoken of that woman with you Mister Jackson."

"You shou'da…shou'da tol' me."

Buck and Vin's eyes were darting between Nate and Ezra in almost perfect unison as the two men just stared at each other.

"Eavesdropping is a foul and filthy habit Mister Jackson, I am truly surprised that you would allow yourself to indulge in something so vulgar."

Either the insult didn't register through the alcohol or Nate just didn't care at the moment because he let it slide without a return volley, those dark eyes hardening as Ezra continued to stare and , against all that they knew of his character, said no more.

"She wa' a good wo'man."

"Have not spoken of and will not speak of her with you, Mister Jackson. Not while you are inebriated and not while you are sober. My family is my business and no concern of yours."

"She saved me.," Nate added, his voice firm and once again absent of the drunken slur, his expression earnest and fierce.

_Almost_, Chris couldn't help thinking, _as if it were some kind of competition._

Something, the look on his face, the words themselves, the somehow possessive tone of Nate's voice proved too much to Ezra and Chris closed his eyes when the man snapped, "How very fortunate for you! "

Then he felt the man they were chained to jerk, slightly, towards the Gambler as he tried to walk away (Proving once and for all that temper could lend a man a fair amount of strength.) and heard the list of profanities that colored the air as Ezra apparently remembered why he couldn't just leave.

"Mister Dean," With his temper snapping so close to his heels Ezra could do little to moderate his tone, and, even more, had little or no care for the social niceties that normally dominated his conversations. If the boy currently masquerading as Sheriff felt abused by his tone then so be it. ," I am quite finished here and demand that you return me to my cell forthwith!"

"Now Mister Standish…"

"RIGHT NOW! DO YOU HEAR ME? RIGHT NOW, DAMN YOU!"

Having absolutely no doubt that he's shocked at least three of the men in the room with his outburst he keeps his attention focused on Deputy Dean, who simply stares at him unsurprised and unaffected. And why shouldn't he be? In the scant few days he has known him the Deputy has seen him lose his temper far more often than not, has seen him scream and rage and enact violence upon another's person. Why should something as minor as his yelling at the top his lungs entice so much as a flinch out of him at this point?

That being the case, as the saying went, in for a penny, in for a pound.

"THIS TRAVESTY ENDS HERE! DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME! "

"Ezra."

" I HAVE QUITE HAD MY FILL OF ENTERTAINING YOU …"

" Ezra."

" AND MUCH MORE TO THE POINT…"

"EZRA!"

Turning to direct his rage at Chris as the other man used his longer reach to circumvent the immovable Mister Lewis and take hold of his arm in a viselike grip Ezra caught the look on his face and froze.

Just froze, all his rage and indignation draining away, leaving him feeling limp and empty.

Because Chris wasn't mad, or even annoyed.

There was something soft, almost gentle ( Though Ezra's mind skittered away from that description like a frightened bird) in his expression, something …well, kind.

" I don't want to do this Chris. I shouldn't have to do this."

The Gambler's voice wasn't quite the whine it could've been, would've been on another man, but there was a frantic, feral light in the man's eyes Chris'd never imagined he'd see there. It held something of pain and fear, of terror and shame, and what it boiled down to would be out and out hysteria on any other man.

"You don't have to.," he snarled and let his gaze lock on to Dean where he sat at the table nearest the door. Watched him flinch away from what he saw there.

"Now Chris…"

"For once in your life just _shut up _Buck!"

Then, in a decisive gesture he shouldn't have been capable of, Nate shoved away from the table. He rose to his full height and used the bottle to gesture at them.," Y'all thin you know, bu'ya don'. Ya don know nothing'.,"Making one grand all encompassing gesture with the bottle, he swayed slightly on his feet, "Miss Maggie, she was…"

"SHUT UP, DAMN YOU!," Ezra snarled and lunged.

"Here now!," the until this point silent blacksmith protested and jerked the arm attached to Ezra back, effectively yanking Ezra back toward him.

It almost would've been comical, the way the smaller man slammed into the larger's torso, the way he shook his head and shot Lewis a look of outrage, but then he turned to lunge again and all Chris could see was the fear and the pain in his eyes.

_No_., he thought.

Then he reached out and slammed the table away from him and straight into Nathan, who (being more drunk than he had a right to be and still be standing in the first place) lost his balance.

He stood there for several heartbeats, balancing on his heels, pin wheeling his arms before finally losing the battle and falling backwards into the table behind him.

The table which collapsed beneath his weight.

Buck and Vin were already on their feet, had begun to rise as soon as he moved, Dean not far behind them as they moved to check on Nate who didn't stir after his landing.

He looked at Ezra, saw nothing but relief, if not outright satisfaction on that front, then to the blacksmith who just stood there, apparently unmoved by the whole scene.

Which was fair enough, Chris figured.

"Well hell, "Vin muttered, kneeling beside their Healer, slapping each cheek to try and rouse him," C'mon Nate. Wake up."

"Someone's gonna have to pay for that.," The bartender, who was also the owner if he remembered right, called out from where he stood behind the bar polishing glasses.

Dean shot him a quelling look before kneeling next to Nate., "We'll have to send for Waterston."

"HA!," Ezra barked out in a very _so there_ tone of voice.

"I can settle with you or I can bring it up with the Judge when he arrives. Same difference to me, really.," the Bartender drawled and set Dean to cursing under his breath.

"I'd a thought his heard was stronger than that.,"Buck murmured, exchanging looks with Vin.

Chris felt himself rolling his eyes at the sight.

On the floor, Nate groaned.

"There ya go Buck, ya gave up too easy.,"Vin chided as he moved to slip his arms beneath the larger, heavier man, "C'mon Nate, up ya go there son."

Nate groaned again as he let them push him into a sitting position and Chris waited, knowing the other man wouldn't stay that passive for long. Even drunk and probably concussed Nate just wasn't the type to let others handle him. None of the were, really.

And sure enough he'd only been upright for a handful of heartbeats when the struggle began.

"Le'me go.," Nate snarled, throwing his body forward to free himself from Vin's grasp and managing to head but Buck in the process.

"Damn it Nate!,"Buck roared as his nose gushed blood.

Falling backward the Healer clipped Vin's chin with his head, sending him sprawling on his ass, then rebounded and slammed his fist into Bucks jaw.

Ezra began to laugh and Dean struggled to subdue Nate, failing spectacularly, while Vin spit blood and scrabbled to his feet.

Chris turned to the Blacksmith, "So, you run a good business?'

"My work's stand up."

"Think my horse's getting ready to throw a shoe.," Which was the whole reason he'd stopped in the damn town to begin with, might as well take care of it now while he had the chance and the time., "You got time to work him in? "

The blacksmith shrugged, a gesture like mountains moving," Take a look at him later today. The big black at the livery right?"

Chris nodded,"Yep. Appreciate it."

"Nothing of it."

With a sigh he turned his attention back to the melee on the floor, where Dean was now sitting on his heels working his jaw back and forth as if trying to make sure it was still attached while Buck, Vin and Nate continued to wrestle around in a tangled mass of limbs.

Beside him Ezra continued to laugh.

"You're not helping you know."

"I assure you Mister Larabee to do so was never my intention."

"Yeah, I figured."

He let it go on for several more seconds before taking a deep breath and bellowing out," ALL RIGHT THAT'S ENOUGH! GET OFF HIM BEFORE I BOOT YOUR ASSES ACROSS THE DAMN BAR!"

Dean shot him an incredulous look, which was a mistake because he didn't see Nate's boot until it caught him in the stomach.

With the force of long habit the other two quickly obeyed, releasing Nate and then darting out of reach of both fist _and _boot.

Nate went right back to glaring at Ezra, who silenced his mirth, retreating again behind that expressionless stoicism.

"You le'me hate you,"he slurred, though not nearly as badly as only a moment ago.,"Fer no reason"

"You had reasons enough. It just so happens that what you assumed, without _once_ seeking beyond the surface of the matter, was wholly incorrect."

"You coulda…"

"Could have _what_ Mister Jackson," Ezra's voice lashed out like a whip, all the worse for the cold, precise tone of it," paraded my tragedies before you as _proof_ of my good character? Used the deaths of my loved ones for profit and gain? Proven to you and to myself that I am exactly the kind of self bastard you've always assumed? Tell me, would that have changed your opinion of me _at all_, when nothing I actually did managed to make so much as a scratch upon your own intolerant opinions?"

"I was wrong."

"That must've hurt your tongue.," was the Gambler's only reply.

"Well, it seems as if we have _not_ arrived in the nick of time, Brother ."

Even Nate's attention snapped toward the doorway where Josiah and J.D. were standing, looking, of all things, slightly amused.

_Oh, for God's sake_, Chris thought, not needing this complication.

"Nice nose Buck., "J.D. snickered," What'd we miss?"

"Kevin,"the Bartender called out,"I'm still waitin to hear who's gonna pay for all this."

"Well shit.," Nate muttered just before the liquor caught up to him and he slumped to the floor where he almost immediately began to snore.

UUU

It's nearly eight o'clock when Mary slips into Billy's room.

She new she didn't have much time to find what she was looking for, Billy might've been up later than he should've but he's never been the type to sleep in, so with the instincts of a mother who knows her son she went straight to his bed and lifted the mattress.

And there they were, a neatly stacked pile of letters.

With only a twinge of guilt she pulled them out and settled on the bed to read them.

She unfolded the first letter, noting the well worn cresses in the paper that told her Billy has read and reread this letter many times, her eyes falling to the flowing and beautiful calligraphic script.

_Mister Travis,_

_It is a rare thing to find a friend such as yourself and your concern is duly noted. Let me reassure you again though that I am doing quiet well, in every way imaginable. My side is still tender, yet only that Sir. Nothing, I assure you, to concern either of us. _

_Now, let me assure you that there is no possible way your mother could place the blame for Mister Larabee's absence upon your shoulder. Whatever her reasons for asking you to remove yourself to your grandparents residence I am convinced that she has only your best interests at heart. As, you must know, she always has._

The tears came readily enough at the thought that Billy could believe she'd blamed him for Chris leaving and she brushed at her eyes before they could fall and mar the page.

_As to my luck at the tables it persists, though I find I am growing bored in this town and believe I shall move on to my next destination in but a day or two. I will, of course, send you word of how to contact me upon reaching said destination._

_I hope your studies are progressing well, though I know you find your numbers tedious. Remember persistence is the key to success and the sooner you have mastered this onerous task the sooner you may move ahead to another more enjoyable one. Speaking of persistence I find I must again remind you that it is not Mister Jackson's fault that I took my leave and, though I am grateful for your show of loyalty, it would perhaps be best for you to let your anger toward him go. They were only words Master Travis. Only words._

Mary's eyes narrowed at that as she remembered Billy's sudden and potent dislike of Nathan Jackson.

_Now I am afraid the hour grows late and I must seek my bed. I look forward to hearing from you next month, indeed your letters have become the very highlight of my month. Remember to be kind to your mother._

_Ezra P. Standish_

How long, Mary wondered, had it taken Billy to read just this one letter? That he had read it she had no doubt, but it wouldn't have been particularly easy for him. Not at his age and level of education.

She looked down at the stack of letters in her lap, realizing for the first time not only how important Ezra had become to her son but how important Billy had become to him and the tears came again.

_I should've loved you,_ she thought, with a quiet regret for things that could never be, and remembered how foolish he'd looked dressed as a woman.

He'd left town, yes, but he hadn't left Billy. And that was a lot more than could be said for …

The thought trailed off as her eyes found the figurines sitting on the nightstand beside Billy's bed.

The one she knew well, a hand carved likeness of Job that Chris had given Billy not long after he moved back. But the other …Though she is confident that she has never laid eyes on it before everything about it is familiar. The stance and the cut of the clothes, the angle of the hat. She knew the craftsmanship as well, it was obvious enough when you compared it to the wooden figure of Job it was standing beside.

Chris, she thinks, and her heart skips, then drops.

And then the tears come in earnest.

She'd tried so hard to tell herself over the last six months that Christopher Larabee had never been any of her concern, that his absence meant no more than his actual presence ever had, and oh, how convincing she could be when she had to be.

But sitting there on her son's bed, faced with the evidence that he _hadn't_, at least, left Billy as she'd thought he had, she can't accept her own lies anymore.

It had never been that Chris had left the town, left Billy; he'd left _her_ and she hadn't been sure if she could forget that, if she could move past it.

She hadn't meant to let him get so close to her, hadn't meant to fall in love with him, but then she hadn't been a strong enough guard for her own heart and one day she'd looked down and realized it was gone.

And then he'd left and it was worse than losing her husband because Chris _chose_ to leave and God how that hurt. Hurt so bad that at times she thought she couldn't breathe around the pain.

So she'd gotten mad, good and mad. It had been easier, safer to embrace all the anger building around the pain. Anger at him for leaving, at herself for loving him because how could she love someone who would do that to her son? Who would just _leave_ him like that?

But he hadn't and she hadn't and all she can do now is cry as the anger falls away from her, washed away by the tears falling from her eyes, blurring the image he'd carved of himself to watch over her son in his absence.

UUU

The telegraph, by its very nature, was short to the point of blunt.

YOU HAVE ALWAYS DONE WHAT WAS RIGHT STOP I TRUST THAT YOU WILL SEE JUSTICE SERVED STOP IT WOULD BE NICE TO HAVE THINGS BACK THE WAY THEY SHOULD BE STOP LOVE MARY AND BILLY STOP END

Rereading the thing for what had to be the tenth time Judge Orrin Travis considered his daughter -in-laws words, both those in the message and those she'd left unsaid.

Deliberately left unsaid, he was sure.

He'd known as soon as he'd been summoned to Huxley that this was going to be complicated but he hadn't anticipated this, maybe couldn't have. Mary had a stubborn streak as wide as Texas and she wasn't the most forgiving woman ever born; the very fact that she would ask this of him said more than anything else possibly could have how bad this thing really could go.

_She shouldn't have used Billy like that_, he thinks, knowing she did so to remind him what was at stake.

As if he hadn't already known.

As if he _wanted_ to hang Chris Larabee or Ezra Standish.

Well maybe Ezra, but only a little and only sometimes.

Sighing he settled deeper into the cushions as the stage rumbled on and wondered what the hell he was going to do now that his daughter-in-law had, for the sake of her and his grandson, asked him to throw what was fast proving to be the most difficult murder trial of his life.

And it hadn't even started yet.

UUU

This is a giant block of whatever is most difficult for you to carry & trust me on this,

you'll carry it more times than you can count until you decide that's exactly what you want to do most

& then it won't weigh a thing anymore.

-Brian Andreas


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